ody's heart stuck in his
throat; for fleet-footed racers were speeding round and round, and the
fellow who got thrown in the midst of all these trampling hoofs would
have small chance of looking upon the sun again. People instinctively
tossed their heads up to see how high he would go before coming down
again; but, for a wonder, they saw nothing, except a cloud of dust mixed
with tan-bark, and when that had cleared away they discovered the black
mare and her rider, apparently on the best of terms, dashing up the
track at a breakneck pace.

Erik was dripping with perspiration when he dismounted, and Lady Clare's
glossy coat was flecked with foam. She was not aware, apparently, that
if she had any reputation to ruin she had damaged it most effectually.
Her behavior on the track and her treatment of the horse-dealer were by
this time common property, and every dealer and fancier made a mental
note that Lady Clare was the number in the catalogue which he would
not bid on. All her beauty and her distinguished ancestry counted for
nothing, as long as she had so uncertain a temper. Her sire, Potiphar,
it appeared, had also been subject to the same infirmities of temper,
and there was a strain of savagery in her blood which might crop out
when you least expected it.

Accordingly, when a dozen fine horses had been knocked down at good
prices, and Lady Clare's turn came, no one came forward to inspect her,
and no one could be found to make a bid.

"Well, well, gentlemen," cried the auctioneer, "here we have a beautiful
thoroughbred mare, the favorite mount of Her Royal Highness the
Princess, and not a bid do I hear. She's a beauty, gentlemen, sired
by the famous Potiphar who won the Epsom Handicap and no end of minor
stakes. Take a look at her, gentlemen! Did you ever see a horse before
that was raven black from nose to tail? I reckon you never did. But such
a horse is Lady Clare. The man who can find a single white hair on her
can have her for a gift. Come forward, gentlemen, come forward. Who will
start her--say at five hundred?"

A derisive laugh ran through the crowd, and a voice was heard to cry,
"Fifty."

"Fifty!" repeated the auctioneer, in a deeply grieved and injured tone;
"fifty did you say, sir? Fifty? Did I hear rightly? I hope, for the sake
of the honor of this fair city, that my ears deceived me."

Here came a long and impressive pause, during which the auctioneer,
suddenly abandoning his dramatic manner, cha