Here the Viscount chanced to catch sight of them, and, with his

groom at "Moonraker's" head, paced up to them.

"Viscount," said his Lordship, looking up at his son with wise, dark

eyes, "your arm is troubling you, I see."

"Indeed, sir, it might be--a great deal worse."

"Still, you will be under a disadvantage, for it will be a punishing

race for horse and man."

"Yes, sir."

"And--you will do your best, of course, Horatio?"

"Of course, sir."

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"But--Horace, may I ask you to remember--that your father has--only

one son?"

"Yes, sir,--and, father, may I tell you that--that thoughtless

though he may be, he never forgets that--he is your son!" Saying

which the Viscount leaned down from his saddle, with his hand

stretched out impulsively, and, this time, his father's clasp was

very light and gentle. So the Earl bowed, and turning, walked away.

"He's--deuced Roman, of course, Bev," said the Viscount, staring

hard after his father's upright figure, "but there are times when

he's--rather more--than human!" And sighing, the Viscount nodded and

rode off.

"Only ten minutes more, sir!" said Martin.

"Well, I'm ready, Martin," answered Barnabas, and, setting the rose

in his breast very securely, he swung himself lightly into the saddle,

and with the old groom at "The Terror's" head, paced slowly out of

the paddock towards the starting post.

Here a great pavilion had been set up, an ornate contrivance of silk

and gold cords, and gay with flags and bunting, above which floated

the Royal Standard of England, and beneath which was seated no less

ornate a personage than the First Gentleman in Europe--His Royal

Highness the Prince Regent himself, surrounded by all that was

fairest and bravest in the Fashionable and Sporting World. Before

this pavilion the riders were being marshalled in line, a gallant

sight in their scarlet coats, and, each and every, mounted upon a

fiery animal every whit as high-bred as himself; which fact they

manifested in many and divers ways, as--in rearing and plunging, in

tossing of heads, in lashing of heels, in quivering, and snorting,

and stamping--and all for no apparent reason, yet which is the

prerogative of your thoroughbred all the world over.

Amidst this confusion of tossing heads and manes, Barnabas caught a

momentary glimpse of the Viscount, some way down the line, his face

frowning and pale; saw the Marquis alternately bowing gracefully

towards the great, gaudy pavilion, soothing his plunging horse,

and re-settling his cravat; caught a more distant view of

Captain Slingsby, sitting his kicking sorrel like a centaur; and

finally, was aware that Sir Mortimer Carnaby had ridden up beside him,

who, handsome and debonair, bestrode his powerful gray with a

certain air of easy assurance, and laughed softly as he talked with

his other neighbor, a thinnish, youngish gentleman in sandy whiskers,

who giggled frequently.




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