remembering my base ingratitude,
decided that I deserved no further information about his hero, who
ought to be my hero too.

I pretended not to hear, and watched the show of beautiful horses and
carriages. They went round and round the great grassy ring, each driver
(and some of them were English) taking off their top-hats in front of
the Royal Pavilion.

There was a good deal of this kind of entertainment, but the best part
of the show was saved for the last, when all the glittering carriages
had disappeared from the course. Then came the jumping competition, in
which the finest riders, officers and civilians, were to prove what they
and their horses could do.

The crowd had wearied of the long driving contests, but as the Dutch
soldiers ran out across the grass to take their places beside the
hedges, hurdles, water-jumps, and obstacles, there was a general
brisking up.

Then began the real excitement of the afternoon. People greeted their
favorites with applause, and Cousin Robert's hero had the largest share.
He made a splendid figure on his delicately shaped roan, a creature all
_verve_ and muscle like his master, graceful as a cat, and shining in
the sun with the rich effulgence of a chestnut fresh from the burr.

I couldn't help a jumping of the pulses when the bell rang, and the
good-looking young men on their grand horses cantered into the ring.
Rudolph Brederode was the last, and his horse came in on its hind legs,
pawing and prancing with sheer joy of life and its own beauty; yet what
a different beast from that other who had also pirouetted to the sound
of music in the morning! I wondered if William the Silent thought--but
of course he didn't.

One by one the horses started, urged on or held back by their riders.
All rode well, but not one got round the course without a fault--a jump
short at a ditch; a hind hoof that brushed a hedge; the ring of an iron
shoe on a hurdle; or a wooden brick sent flying from the top row on a
high wall; not one, until Rudolph Brederode's turn came.

At the last moment, a pat of his hand on his horse's satin shoulder
quieted the splendid creature's nerves. Instantly it was calm, and
coming down from fun to business, started off at the daintest of
canters, which broke at exactly the right second into a noble bound.
Without a visible effort the adorable beast rose for each obstacle,
floating across hedges and walls as if it had been borne by the wings of
Pegasus. The las