ship--as good as Paul's own, they said--was kept on her legs,
and came in winner of the Yanyilla Steeplechase.

I wanted to go to Paul, to rush across to where already a little crowd
were collecting. Why should he be hurt--so many had fallen already, and
not one was badly hurt--why should he be? No, I told myself, I need not
fear, and yet I was afraid to move, and I stood there, and listened to
the woman beside me counting the horses as they came in.

"Vixen first, Sandy second, the Dingo--no, Bones third. 'Ard luck on Mr.
Griffith, ain't it, Jim? I don't believe the 'orse as got up. Couldn't
have killed 'im, eh?"

The whole place was swimming before my eyes, but there came to me a
feeling I must know the worst, and I put the little kerchief that was to
have waved for my lover's triumph over my head, and started out into the
brilliant sunshine towards the little crowd that was collecting round
the last fence. The woman tried to stop me.

"Don't 'ee go, dearie, don't 'ee. Jim 'ere'll go," but I pushed her
away. Why should she try and stop me, what right had anyone to come
between me and my love? Then the crowd parted, and I saw a little
procession come towards me. What was that borne by four men? I just
caught the gleam of a scarlet jacket, and then some man's voice said,
not unkindly:

"It's his sweetheart. For God's sake take her away."

But some one else--the doctor I think--put in a word.

"It can't make any difference. She must know sooner or later, poor
child. Lay him down here, under this tree. I doubt if we get him to the
house alive."

They laid him under a big blackwood tree, and the doctor put his head on
my lap. Such a still white face as it was, with the eyes closed and just
a drop or two of blood round the corners of the mouth.

"Oh, doctor," I said, and it seemed to me my own voice was far, far
away, farther even than those of the men who were standing around me,
"he will get well, he will, he must! He can't be much hurt."

But the doctor said nothing, and the fear that was in my heart grew and
grew as I stooped over my lover and, careless of onlookers, kissed him
again and again.

"My darling, my darling, my darling, you must get well soon," for I
would not see that there was much amiss; ten minutes ago he had been
full of life; half an hour ago I had been in his arms.

Very wearily his eyes opened and I saw he knew _me_.

"My poor little girl," he said, "My poor little Hope," and his hand