lding a blanket to catch him in his fall. Even in his
imaginative sleep, he was saved from a dependence upon this totally
inadequate receptacle for a horse and rider, for he woke with a gasp
after he had traveled with frightful velocity for an age through the
air.

Crane was a man not given to superstitious enthrallment; his convictions
were usually founded on basic manifestations rather than fanciful
visions; but somehow the night's dream fastened upon his mind as he
lingered over a breakfast of coffee and rolls. Even three cups of
coffee, ferociously strong, failed to drown the rehearsal of his
uncomfortable night's gallop. Why had he linked Mortimer and Allis
together? Had it been fate again, prompting him in his sleep, giving him
warning of a rival that stood closer to the girl than he?

More than once he had thought of Mortimer as a possible rival. Mortimer
was not handsome, but he was young, tall, and square-shouldered--even
his somewhat plain face seemed to reflect a tall, square-shouldered
character.

Subconsciously Crane turned his head and scanned critically the
reflection of his own face in a somewhat disconsolate mirror that
misdecorated a panel of the breakfast room. Old as the glass was,
somewhat bereaved of its quicksilver lining at the edge, it had not got
over its habit of telling the truth. Ordinarily little exception
could have been taken to the mirrored face; it was intellectual; no
sign-manual of cardinal sin had been placed upon it; it was neither
low, nor brutal, nor wolfishly cunning in expression. Its pallor rather
loaned an air of distingue, but--and the examination was being conducted
for the benefit of a girl of twenty--it was the full-aged visage of a
man of forty.

More than ever a conviction fixed itself in Crane's mind that, no matter
how strong or disinterested his love for Allis might be, he would win
her only by diplomacy. After all, he was better versed in that form of
love-making, if it might be so called.

Crane was expecting Langdon at ten o'clock. He heard a step in the
breakfast room, and, turning his head, saw that it was the Trainer.
Mechanically Crane pulled his watch from his pocket; he had thought it
earlier; it was ten. Langdon was on time to a minute. Nominally
what there was to discuss, though of large import, required little
expression. With matters going so smoothly there was little but
assurances and congratulations to be exchanged. Diablo's showing in the
big H