ight recognize
him, although Robert was not sure, but they, too, might keep silent.

For a little while, he wondered why St. Luc had come to the Virginia
capital, a journey so full of danger for him. Was he following him?
Was it because of some tie between them? Or was it because St. Luc was
now spying upon the Anglo-American preparations? He understood to the
full the romantic and adventurous nature of the Frenchman, and knew
that he would dare anything. Then he had a consuming desire for the
eyes of St. Luc to meet his, and he bent upon him a gaze so long, and
of such concentration, that at last the chevalier looked up.

St. Luc showed recognition, but in a moment or two he looked
away. Robert also turned his eyes in another direction, lest Tayoga or
Willet should follow his gaze, and when he glanced back again in a
minute or two St. Luc was gone. His roving eyes, traveling over the
crowd once more, could not find him, and he was glad. He believed now
that St. Luc had come to Williamsburg to discover the size and
preparations of the American force and its plan, and Robert felt that
he must have him seized if he could. He would be wanting in his
patriotism and duty if he failed to do so. He must sink all his liking
for St. Luc, and make every effort to secure his capture.

But there was a sudden murmur that grew into a deep hum of
expectation, punctuated now and then by shouts: "Blenheim!" "Cressy!"
"Cabell!" "Stuart!" Horses and horsemen alike seemed to have their
partisans in about equal numbers. Ladies rose to their feet, and waved
bright fans, and men gave suggestions to those on whom they had laid
their money.

The race, for a space, crowded St. Luc wholly out of Robert's
mind. Stuart and Cabell, each dressed very neatly in jockey attire,
came out and mounted their horses, which the grooms had been leading
back and forth. The three year olds, excited by the noise and
multitude of faces, leaped and strained at their bits. Robert did not
know much of races, but it seemed to him that there was little to
choose between either horses or riders.

The circular track was a mile in length, and they would round it
twice, start and finish alike being made directly in front of the
judges' stand. The starter, a tall Virginian, finally brought the
horses to the line, neck and neck, and they were away. The whole crowd
rose to its feet and shouted approval as they flashed past. Blenheim
was a bay and Cressy was a sorrel, a