Mostyn stood up in his place; he was quivering with excitement, all his nerves seemed on edge. He stared about him and took in at a glance the whole wonderful sight--the restless mass of humanity seething over hill and dale, humanity in all its gradations, from the coster and his lass to the top-hatted men and smartly-dressed women who mingled with the throng till they found their centre in the enclosure and Grand Stand. The highest in all the land and the lowest--silk, satin, muslin, rags--Mayfair and Whitechapel--Tom, Dick, Harry, as alive and playful to-day as in the forties--they were all there just as Mostyn had read of them many a time. The white tents, the extravagantly dressed bookmakers, the itinerant musicians and jugglers, the gipsies. He drew a deep breath; he was looking upon the world! "I'm glad I came," he cried, forgetting for the moment that he was not alone. "For now I know what it is to be alive." His voice shook. Anthony Royce laid his hand gently upon the boy's shoulder. "I like your enthusiasm," he said, "I understand it. You are just making your debût upon a larger stage, and it is a little overwhelming. Well, I'll put you through your paces, my boy. Leave yourself in my hands and you won't regret it. I'll guarantee that your first Derby Day shall not be your last." Mostyn accepted joyfully. "You're awfully kind, sir," he said. "I'm afraid I should have a poor time by myself, and I don't like to bother Pierce--besides, he wants to be with Sir Roderick. It's good of you to pity my ignorance. I wonder why you do it?" Royce made no reply--probably none was expected. Only that strange enigmatical smile came once more to his face, and for a moment his eyes were vacant--again it was as though he were looking back into the past. To himself Mostyn muttered: "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." CHAPTER II. MOSTYN SEES THE DERBY. An hour before the big race Mostyn stood in the Paddock, by the side of his mentor, and pretended to pass a critical eye upon the horses generally, and upon Hipponous in particular. The second favourite was a chestnut with three white stockings. His mane had been hogged, and he had--for a racehorse--an unusually large tail. Tyro as he was, Mostyn could understand the value of the large roomy flanks and magnificent barrel, and as the colt picked its way delicately round the circle, sweating slightly from excitement and glancing intelligently from side to side, it seemed as if he appreciated the fact that it was Derby Day, and realised the magnitude of the task before him. A kaleidoscopic crowd surged round the horse, a crowd that Mostyn failed to understand till Royce explained that the "open sesame" to the Paddock could be obtained by the payment of a sovereign, which accounted for the general rubbing of shoulders and absence of class distinction.