solutely satisfied, though he had done
nobody a wrong, nor had calculated on putting a single penny in his
pocket. On the contrary, he had been convinced that he was doing a most
disinterested action.

But in the light of the past few days everything looked different.
Raffle was by no means blind to what was going on around him. There was
plenty of gossip in the stables, for some degree of friendship between
the lads at Haredale Park and those at Seton Manor was inevitable, and
it was an open secret that there might possibly be an alliance between
the two houses. It was plain to Raffle's keen eyes that May Haredale
disliked Raymond Copley intensely and that Sir George was doing all he
could to remove this objection. Raffle guessed, too, pretty accurately
what was the state of Harry Fielden's feelings, and saw that if this
marriage took place his little scheme would be worse than useless. If
Fielden had not turned up again it would not have mattered. But as it
was the large fortune which Sir George was about to annex seemed likely
to go into the pockets of Raymond Copley.

Joe hated Raymond Copley with all the contempt that an old sportsman has
for an ignorant dabbler in the great game. He knew that Copley cared
nothing for racing for its own sake, that he kept his stable only to
give himself importance in the eyes of his neighbours. Raffle was not
aware that the Seton Manor stud was a blind to cover the conspiracies
hatched between Copley and Foster, but he knew enough to set his teeth
on edge and to make him determined to stop this hateful marriage if he
could. It was gall and wormwood to feel that after all he had been
working and planning for the advantage of Copley. He knew that Harry
Fielden would have some delicacy in interfering and believed it likely
that, if May consented to become Copley's wife, he would forbid Raffle
to say a word about the real ownership of the Blenheim colt.

This was bad, but worse was to follow. For the last two or three days
the colt had been off his feed, and Raffle thought he was developing
symptoms of staleness. To settle this point, he arranged for another
early morning trial. He had confided his intention to a couple of his
trusty helpers, who fondly imagined that no one knew of it but
themselves. But these things leak out in stables, and in some mysterious
way the projected trial reached the ears of Chaffey, who, when he chose
to tear himself away from his beloved bars, was one o