"It's hard luck, isn't it," Pierce was saying, "but, after all, Mostyn is in good hands and will be quite all right. I'd have stayed behind with him, but he insisted that I must go to look after you. My wife is with Mostyn"--he lowered his voice--"and his father is with him, too," he continued. "You know that they have been on bad terms for the last year, and they have just been reconciled. Mostyn did something for his father, something that I can't tell you about, and which has saved old Mr. Clithero from a very awkward position. And now"--Pierce smiled--"the old man is at his son's bedside, in the house of a man whom he professed to loath and despise; and I verily believe that he, to whom racing has always been the devil's work, is as anxious as Mostyn himself for Pollux to pull off the Derby." "Pollux won't," said Rada, with something of her old spirit. Whatever she might be feeling, her pride was in arms against anyone, and especially Pierce, guessing her secret. "I think it is mean of Mostyn to wish to beat me," she continued, her cheeks flushing now. "If he was so keen on carrying out his word he might have tried for the Derby next June. He gave himself five years. Besides, the whole thing was so silly; no one has taken it seriously but he." Pierce noted the girl's flushed cheeks and he read the truth of her love in her eyes. He understood what she must feel, and how heartless Mostyn's conduct must seem to her, since she knew nothing of the will and of the incalculable importance it was for him that Pollux should win the race. Was it not for her sake, too, that Mostyn was depending upon Pollux? But she did not know--she could not know. How he longed to explain! Could he not give her a hint? But he quickly found himself involved in totally unexpected difficulties. "Don't be hard upon Mostyn, Miss Armitage," he ventured. "Really, I assure you, he hasn't done this out of ill-will to you. If only I could get you to feel that! Nor is it that silly wager which makes him so keen upon winning the Derby. It may look to you like spite, but believe me--try to believe me--it's quite the reverse." Poor Pierce stammered painfully. He wanted to do the right thing both by his friend and by Rada. He could see that the latter had been deeply wounded in her affection, and he felt that if by chance Pollux should win the race she might be too deeply offended with Mostyn to listen to any explanation. And yet it was for her as much as for his millions that Mostyn was fighting. "I don't understand you, Mr. Trelawny," said Rada. "Please try to explain yourself." She tapped the floor impatiently with the toe of her little shoe. Her dark eyes were fixed upon Pierce, who felt particularly uncomfortable. "Mostyn cares for you far too much----," he began hesitatingly.