The rain had long ceased; the air smelt warm and fragrant, as, soon after daybreak, Lawrence Lee came in sight of the roof-tops of Newmarket showing sharp and dark against the clear gray sky, just rose-tinted with the hues of the rising sun, whose rays were gilding the smooth turfy down, till it gleamed like richest velvet. Very soft and pleasant it must have felt to the weary feet of Stars and Garters; though indeed as she alighted from the flinty road on to the elastic grass of the course, she carried herself so bravely, that none of the critical eyes she was now encountering could have guessed she had been an hour out of her stall. Who knows but that she was conscious that her laurels were at stake; for already, though it was barely six o'clock, the course was dotted with knots of gentlemen and trainers, and a host of hangers-on and loungers engaged in keen discussion of the pros and cons of their ventures, or watching the jockeys as they breathed their magnificent barbs and racers in a morning gallop. [Sidenote: The horseman.] "Who be he, I wunner?" enviously growled a mounted jockey as Lee dashed past. "Happen you caught sight of his colours, my lord?" "Black," laughingly replied the gentleman thus addressed, a handsome man richly attired in a becoming morning suit. "By my faith, black as the very mischief's self, for aught I could see besides. Black as Old Nick and his nag. Eh, Master Alworth, was it not so?" "Nay," replied the somewhat elderly, grizzled, beperiwigged gentleman to whom the other had appealed, as he leaned with one hand on his silver-knobbed ebony stick, and shaded his eyes with the other, to gaze after the strange horse and his rider. "Black to a certainty. But in my poor judgment the animal was such a Pegasus of grace and vigour, and his rider's countenance looked such a goodly one, that if ever our patron George of England wore a suit of sables." "And bestrode a black charger?" gaily interrupted the other. "Even so," bowed the elder man, with a twinkle in his kindly brown eyes; "why, I should have guessed him to be our champion saint in the flesh." "Hastening to deliver his country from the evil-doers," said the nobleman. "'Twould be a miracle indeed if he could do that," soberly answered Mr. Alworth, "or he a Quixote of Quixotes to dream of it." "More like he is come to match his Rosinante's paces with our Fleetfoot's here," rattled on the other, as he toyed with the nose of the beautiful racer against whose shoulder he was leaning. "By the way," he went on, addressing the jockey in charge of it, "which day is settled for the match with Woodcock?" "Monday se'nnight, my lord," answered the man. "Does the king stay so long?" asked Alworth, looking up in some surprise. [Sidenote: "Pleasure!"]