hey heard a confused clamour but it soon died away.

The spectators held their breath in suspense. From time to time,
somebody would remark aloud on the various incidents of the running. At
every change in the order of the horses numerous exclamations sounded
through the continuous murmur, and the ladies thrilled visibly. Donna
Ippolita Albonico, mounted on a seat, with her hands on the shoulders of
her husband who stood below her, watched the race with marvellous
self-control and without a trace of apparent emotion, unless the
over-tight compression of her lips and a scarcely perceptible furrow
between her brows might have revealed the effort to an observant eye. At
a certain moment, however, she drew her hands away from her husband's
shoulder, fearful of betraying herself by some involuntary movement.

'Sperelli is down!' announced the Contessa di Lucoli in a loud voice.

Mallecho, in jumping, had slipped on the wet grass and come down on his
knees, but recovered himself in an instant. Andrea had gone over his
head, but was none the worse, and with lightning rapidity was back in
the saddle as Rutolo and Caligaro came up with him. Brummel performed
prodigies, in spite of the wounded leg, and showed the quality of his
blood. Carbonilla was at last putting out all her speed, guided with
consummate skill by her rider. There were still about eight hundred
yards to the winning post.

Sperelli saw victory escaping him and gathered up all his forces to
grasp it again. Standing in the stirrups, bent low over his horse's
neck, he uttered from time to time that short, sharp, ringing word which
always acted so effectively upon the noble creature. While Brummel and
Carbonilla, fatigued by the heaviness of the ground, began to lose the
pace, Mallecho steadily increased the vehemence of his rush and had
nearly reconquered his former position, scenting victory already with
his fiery nostrils. Flying over the last obstacle, he passed
Brummel--his head was level with Carbonilla's shoulder--a hundred yards
from the post he skirted the barrier--on--on--leaving Caligaro's black
mare ten lengths behind. The bell rang--a furious clapping of hands,
like the pelting of hail-stones, and then a dull roar spread through the
great crowd on the green sward under the flood of brilliant sunshine.

As he entered the enclosure, Andrea Sperelli thought to
himself--'Fortune is with me to-day, but how will it be to-morrow?' And
feeling the breath of