Then, not only did Castor and Pollux stand level in the betting, but the similarity of the two animals, even their names, which betokened kinship, could not fail to arouse interest. Those who had seen them together at Epsom--now that they had actually met for the first time--reported them as being so exactly alike that they could hardly be recognised apart. They were both tall, black horses, and there was nothing to choose between them as regarded height or breadth or muscle. Perhaps, just as much as the horses, the owners excited attention. Castor was the property of a girl, and one so young as to seem totally out of place in the racing world. Pollux, which everyone knew to have belonged to popular and genial "Old Rory," had been suddenly transferred, little more than three weeks ago, to Mostyn Clithero, that meteoric young man whose prowess upon the race-course was so remarkable, and who had been buying horses wildly and madly all over the country, and who seemed bent, for no explicable reason, upon making a name for himself upon the Turf. Mostyn sat musing over the events of the past few weeks, as well as on those which were still concealed by the obscurity of the future. Whatever the result might be, at least this could be said--he had had his sporting chance, and he had taken it like a sportsman. If he failed, it was through the chance of war, not through any fault of his. The morrow might see him a vastly wealthy man or a pauper. Had it not been for Sir Roderick, there would have been no doubt as to the issue weeks ago, for Mostyn had indeed lost his last chance when Asmodeus failed for the Guineas. It had taken all the kind-hearted baronet's eloquence, as it was, to induce Mostyn to accept Pollux, and in the end the young man would only yield by striking a particularly hard bargain for himself in the event of the colt winning. "Old Rory" had been forced to take up a selfish line. "Heavenly powers, lad!" he had cried at last, testily, "aren't your millions worth more than the blessed Derby stakes?" And Mostyn had been constrained to see it in this light. The worst of it was that he was thrown into such direct antagonism to Rada. The race lay between him and her--there was no doubt about that. He would have liked to tell her the whole truth, so that she should not misunderstand his motives, as she was bound to do. But it was impossible for him to speak now--for the girl's own sake he saw that it was impossible. To win the Derby with Castor was her dream, her ambition, the one thing she asked of life. Why should he make her unhappy, as she was bound to be if she knew how great a loss he would suffer from her success? She could not help him in any way--she could not scratch Castor even if she wished to do so--there was far too much money already involved upon the colt.