ater, and, landing clear, launched forward with the lunge of a spear
darted through air. Brixworth was passed--the Scarlet and White, a mere
gleam of bright colour, a mere speck in the landscape, to the breathless
crowds in the stand, sped on over the brown and level grassland; two and
a quarter miles done in four minutes and twenty seconds. Bay Regent was
scarcely behind him; the chestnut abhorred the water, but a finer
trained hunter was never sent over the Shires, and Jimmy Delmar rode
like Grimshaw himself. The giant took the leap in magnificent style, and
thundered on neck and neck with the "Guards' crack." The Irish mare
followed, and, with miraculous gameness, landed safely; but her
hind-legs slipped on the bank, a moment was lost, and "Baby" Grafton
scarce knew enough to recover it, though he scoured on nothing daunted.

Pas de Charge, much behind, refused the yawner; his strength was not
more than his courage, but both had been strained too severely at first.
Montacute struck the spurs into him with a savage blow over the head;
the madness was its own punishment; the poor brute rose blindly to the
jump, and missed the bank with a reel and a crash; Sir Eyre was hurled
out into the brook, and the hope of the Heavies lay there with his
breast and fore-legs resting on the ground, his hind-quarters in the
water, and his back broken. Pas de Charge would never again see the
starting-flag waved, or hear the music of the hounds, or feel the
gallant life throb and glow through him at the rallying notes of the
horn. His race was run.

Not knowing, or looking, or heeding what happened behind, the trio tore
on over the meadow and the ploughed; the two favourites neck by neck,
the game little mare hopelessly behind through that one fatal moment
over Brixworth. The turning-flags were passed; from the crowds on the
course a great hoarse roar came louder and louder, and the shouts rang,
changing every second, "Forest King wins," "Bay Regent wins," "Scarlet
and White's ahead," "Violet's up with him," "Violet's past him,"
"Scarlet recovers," "Scarlet beats," "A cracker on the King," "Ten to
one on the Regent," "Guards are over the fence first," "Guards are
winning," "Guards are losing," "Guards are beat!!"

Were they?

As the shout rose, Cecil's left stirrup leather snapped and gave way; at
the pace they were going most men, ay, and good riders too, would have
been hurled out of their saddle by the shock; he scarcely swerved;