u," he said; "I want to see you win this race;
that is, if--I mean, like every other man here, I have harked back to my
natural instinct of covetous acquisition and had a bet on."

"Not Lucretia?"

"No--I've bet on Diablo. Langdon thinks he'll win. Do you remember the
agreement about his purchase?"

"What was that? I've half forgotten it."

"Just a little bet on your account, you know."

"Oh, I remember; but that was only in fun, wasn't it?"

"It was part of the bargain, and it's on. You'll take it, won't you, if
he wins--"

"They're off!" Some one had shouted the magic words from the head of the
steps. In a second every voice of the thousands was stilled, and there
was only the noise of shuffling feet, as eager watchers stood up to see
the horses.

"It's a false start," said Crane, quietly, turning toward the girl. "It
would have been well for you, Miss Allis, had the starter let them go.
Lucretia was well out in the lead; it was Diablo's fault, too, that they
had to go back--he was left standing."

Crane's voice was Fate's voice. Would there never be anything but
Lucretia and Diablo, seven and thirteen, thirteen and seven?

"Diablo's a bad horse at the post, sure," ejaculated Crane, letting
his field glass rest for an instant on his knee; "he just backs up and
shakes his head viciously; evidently he doesn't like the idea of so much
company."

"How is Lucretia acting, Mr. Crane?"

"Perfectly. You must have instilled some of your own patience into her."

The girl hardly heard the implied compliment.

Would the patience be rewarded? Or would thirteen, that was symbolical
of evil, and its bearer, Diablo, who was an agent of evil, together
snatch from her this prize that meant so much? It was strange that she
should not think of the other horses at all. It was as though there
were but two in the race--Lucretia and Diablo--and yet they were both
outsiders.

"The Starter is having a bad time of it; that makes six false breaks,"
said Allis's companion; "it will end by his losing patience with the
boys, I fear, and let them go with something off in a long lead. But
they say this Fitzpatrick is a cool hand, and gives no man the best of
it. He'll probably fine Diablo's rider a hundred dollars; I believe it's
customary to do that when a jockey persistently refuses to come up
with his horses. Just look at that!--the black fiend has lashed out and
nearly crippled something."

"Not Lucretia, Mr. Crane!" gasped A