The sporting chance

CHAPTER IX.

MOSTYN MAKES A PURCHASE.

At an unreasonably early hour the next morning Mostyn, who had slept peacefully enough in his new quarters, was aroused by the advent of Willis, the gardener. The latter, as on the day before, seemed concerned as to the reception which might be offered him. He rubbed his lantern jaws nervously with a work-hardened forefinger while he informed Mostyn that it was a fine day, and that he had brought up the hot water for shaving.

"How's the boy?" asked Mostyn, stretching himself and yawning, but half awake.

"Nicely, thank you, sir." Willis drew a breath of relief. No doubt he had expected to be taken severely to task for not having revealed to his master the fact of Rada Armitage's frequent occupation of the Grange, a trespass which he had palpably condoned. "Miss Rada's been very good to him, pore lad, and is goin' to send him some books to read. Reads a treat, does our Jim." Willis spoke Miss Armitage's name as though to give the necessary opening for explanations. And these were immediately demanded by Mostyn, who woke up completely at the mention of the girl's name.

The explanation was as Rada had hinted. Her appearance had not been looked for since she had slept at the Grange the night before, and had never yet spent two consecutive nights there. Willis meant to have taken the earliest opportunity of warning her that the Grange was no longer unoccupied; he had thought it would not be necessary to mention the matter to Mr. Clithero at all. As for the clothes in the cupboard, he had quite forgotten all about them, and he had thought that the roses in the vases had been left from overnight. He was very penitent, as was his wife, and they both hoped the matter would be overlooked.

Mostyn took it all as a joke, much to the gardener's relief. It was a perfect June morning: the sun shone in at the latticed window, bearing the scent of roses and jasmine, and he felt that he had awakened to a new day, a new life. How different this was to his dingy London lodgings! How different, even, to the pretentious gloom of his father's house! Yet everything about him was his own, absolutely his own! The blood coursed quickly through his veins. How could he be angry with Willis?

Mostyn proceeded to put some questions as to Rada. The girl's name came glibly to his lips. A desire had come upon him, born, no doubt, partly of that strange fascination which she exerted and partly of the revelation of his own masculine power which had followed her fear of an indefinite danger, to master the little vixen, as he mentally described her, to curb and break her in as an untrained filly—he was already beginning to use sporting metaphor, even to himself.

But Willis, who appeared very ready to discuss Rada, almost took Mostyn's breath away by his first statement.

"She's a hangel!" he said emphatically.

"A what?" Mostyn had regarded Rada in anything but an angelic light.

"A hangel," repeated the gardener, laying great stress on the aspirate. He proceeded to sing Rada's praises with evident enjoyment, and palpably from a sense of conviction. She was, it appeared, although as poor as a church mouse, the Lady Bountiful to all the cottage folk in the neighbourhood, by whom she was simply adored. She would minister comforts to the sick and needy, often little more than a cheerful word and the sunlight of her presence, but no less welcome for all that. She would take charge of unruly children and attend to the house-keeping in the unavoidable absence of the mother; she would cook little dainties with her own hands; she had an extraordinary capacity for lulling restless babies to sleep. Willis declared stoutly that she had pulled his own little daughter through a fever when the doctor had been despondent, and she was not afraid of infection either, he added proudly.

Here, indeed, was Rada in a new light! What a queer and complex little creature she must be! She had treated him with such shocking rudeness: he had thought her the very contrary to the "hangel" described by Willis, but now it was evident that there were depths in the girl's nature which had not yet been revealed to him.

Having praised Rada to the full, Willis proceeded to abuse her father, and that in no measured terms. He was a shiftless, idle ne'er-do-well, who had lost all pretensions to being considered a gentleman, though up in London, Willis had heard, he did play the "high and mighty." He went about to race meetings when he could, and had sometimes been away for days without leaving provision for his daughter. He kept one or two race-horses at Treves's stables, but had not brought off a win for some time past. When at home he lounged about in his shirt-sleeves, read the sporting papers, and drank himself silly. Rada, very naturally, found her own distractions, and her chief joy was to career about the country upon her black mare, Bess, a creature as wild as herself.

"The captain don't take no stock of his girl," said Willis emphatically, "an' he'll be sorry for it one of these days. I see her about with young Jack Treves more'n enough, an' Jack ain't the right sort for her, not by a long way."

This was a revelation at which Mostyn felt vaguely annoyed. He took an immediate dislike to Jack Treves. Yet why should he worry himself over Rada's flirtations?

Later that morning, while he ate a comfortable breakfast served up by Mrs. Willis, he heard all the gardener's ideas recapitulated by the good woman. She was just as emphatic on the subject of the captain as her husband had been, nor did she swerve from her opinion when she learnt that Mostyn was already acquainted with the Armitages, though the knowledge of this fact reduced Willis to awkward silence and to much rubbing of his jaw.

Rada, it appeared, had left the cottage early that morning, probably, Mrs. Willis opined, to return home, though it was quite possible she might have gone to other friends. Captain Armitage had been on the drink, and was best left alone.

After an hour or so spent in surveying his new domain, and in discussing plans for the future with the Willis's, Mostyn set out to pay a visit at Barton Mill House. Captain Armitage might be in an objectionably bibulous condition, but Mostyn was not afraid of meeting him.

Of course, he told himself that he wanted to discuss the matter of Castor, and that there was really no time for delay; also that Captain Armitage might very well introduce him to the trainer, William Treves; all of which was good and plausible, but it was neither of the horse Castor nor of the trainer that Mostyn thought, as with some difficulty he found his way through the narrow lanes to Mill House: his reflections were concentrated upon Rada.

He found Captain Armitage at home, but to his great disappointment Rada was not at the Mill House, nor had Captain Armitage the smallest idea where she had gone to. He didn't seem to mind. He laughed immoderately when he heard the story of the rencontre at the Grange the night before, and conjectured that Rada must have gone off to stay with some friends of hers, some folk who were accustomed to her erratic ways, and who lived in the neighbourhood of Newmarket. She had turned up at the Mill House, it appeared, quite early in the morning, had selected some books from her little library, had had Bess saddled, and had then ridden off. Captain Armitage had not seen her because he was in bed.

"We don't always hit it off together," he explained jerkily, "and Rada's quite capable of taking care of herself. She is a little devil, but I like her spirit."

Mostyn found it difficult to reconcile the divergent views of his gardener and of Captain Armitage as to Rada's character, but he did not feel called upon to make any comment upon the subject. Personally he was inclined to agree with the captain.

Of course Captain Armitage was very surprised to receive a visit from Mostyn, and he broke off into a volley of oaths when he learned that the latter had profited under the will of Anthony Royce; this, though Mostyn did not give the full particulars as to his strange bequest, seeing no reason why he should do so, but merely mentioned that he had inherited the Grange and a certain sum of money as well.

"He never left me a penny, not a brass farthing," said Captain Armitage solemnly, "yet I was one of his oldest friends, a school-fellow and all the rest of it." This was a lie, and Mostyn knew it to be a lie, but the matter was not worth discussing.

The captain did not present an imposing figure that morning. Mostyn found him lounging in a disreputably worn arm-chair, clad in a soiled but brilliantly-flowered dressing-gown, smoking an old meerschaum pipe, and perusing a sporting paper. His white hair was untidy, his beard unkempt, and his slippers down at the heel. The little sitting-room was dingy and uncared for; Rada had evidently abandoned the hopeless task of tidying it.

"I told you that I was a poor man, Mr. Clithero," Captain Armitage said, waving a deprecating hand round the room, "and now you can see for yourself." Suddenly his dull eyes brightened. "You say Royce has left you some brass," he insinuated. "Have you thought better of that offer I made you the other day?"

"That's what I'm here for," explained Mostyn. "Are you still willing to sell Castor, Captain Armitage?"

"I should say I was, my boy." The old man sprang from his chair with something of the nervous energy that Mostyn remembered he had displayed when on the coach. "Fifteen hundred pounds! Why, it would be the making of me just now." He spoke eagerly. "I know how I could turn it into five, into ten thousand. There's Cardigan, a sure thing for the Liverpool Cup, and Boscowen, a perfect snip at Sandown. Give me fifteen hundred down, and I'll make a fortune. You shall have the tips, too; I'll throw them into the bargain."

So it came about that, without loss of time, Captain Armitage, muttering and mumbling to himself, had shuffled out of the room, leaving Mostyn to gaze out of the uncleaned window over a strip of garden where the grass grew rank, and where weeds choked the few hardy flowers that had endured. Whatever she might be elsewhere, Rada evidently took no pride in her own home; Mostyn told himself that the Mill House, practically little more than a tumble-down cottage, was one of the most dreary spots he had ever visited.

It was not long before the captain reappeared, a little more spruce in his attire and ready to go out. It was, it appeared, not more than half an hour's walk to the training stables, and there was no reason why the bargain should not be clinched at once.

This was all very well, but Mostyn did not feel capable of relying upon his own judgment, nor did he trust Captain Armitage's word. Fifteen hundred pounds was a large sum, and not to be merely thrown away to put cash into the pocket of a drunkard. Would he do well to purchase Castor? Certainly Sir Roderick had admitted the value of the colt. That went for a good deal, but at the bottom of his heart Mostyn knew that his desire to own the horse had something to do with the struggle which he felt, in an indefinite sort of way, had commenced between himself and Rada. "I'm a girl, but I'll back myself to win a Derby before you!" she had cried contemptuously, and the words had galled and stung him. She had great faith in Castor, he knew that; well, it would be a fitting punishment upon her if, by extraordinary luck, he contrived to carry off the race with that particular horse. Mostyn was not spiteful by nature, but he was very human.

As they walked together, passing through the little town and then emerging upon open country, Captain Armitage exerted his powers of persuasion to the full, and he had a plausible tongue. Mostyn had an eye for a horse, so the old man asserted, and he had recognised that fact upon Derby day, or he would not have dreamed of making his offer. He had taken a fancy to Mostyn from the first, especially because the latter had taken his joking in good part. What he was doing was purely out of personal consideration.

"Look here, Clithero,"—he halted in that sudden and abrupt manner peculiar to him, and seized the young man by the arm—"we don't want a lot of palaver over this business. Treves will tell you that the colt's all right, and his word's as good as gospel. Settle on the nail and we'll cry quits at a thousand."

They reached the training stables at last, a low narrow building, lying a little back from the road, a building that formed three sides of a square and was approached by a large gate. Beyond it, and indeed, on either side of the road, was open level country. "A capital pitch for exercising," as Captain Armitage put it, pointing to a row of horses that were following one another in steady line over the down.

Castor had just returned from exercise, and they found him in his stable where he had been groomed by one of the boys. William Treves himself, an important personality, a man who had accumulated a considerable fortune, but who had no pride about him, and who was not ashamed of his humble origin, nor of the fact that he had never acquired a mastery of the king's English, discoursed volubly on the perfections of the colt. Apparently he already knew of Captain Armitage's desire to find a purchaser. The man gave Mostyn the impression of honesty.

As for Castor, little as Mostyn knew of horses he was impressed by the animal's appearance. Stripped of his clothes, he appeared a black colt of such magnificent proportions as to give one the idea that he was a three-year-old, instead of a nursery youngster.

After much talking, in which Mostyn took small part, the bargain was struck. In return for his cheque for a thousand pounds, Mostyn became the proprietor of "as fine an 'oss as the eye of man could look upon;" so William Treves put it.

"'E 'as a terrific turn of speed," the trainer continued, "and there isn't a three-year-old in this country that can 'old 'im at a mile at weight for age. I borrowed a couple of Colonel Turner's youngsters the other day to try 'im with, an' 'e left 'em fairly standing still, and the Colonel's 'ed man went 'ome with a wonderful tale about 'em, although 'e didn't know I'd put an extra five pound on Castor. Take my advice, if you're set on winnin' next year's Derby, don't pull 'im out too often this year. 'E's entered for the Eclipse at Sandown and the National Produce Breeders' Stakes, and you might let 'im run about four times just to give 'im a breather and get 'im used to racecourse crowds. No man livin' can say to-day wot will win the Derby next year, but if 'e trains on and puts on more bone, as I expect 'e will, 'e must stand a grand chance."

"You hear that? He'll win the Derby for you." Armitage smote his young friend heartily on the back as he spoke. "Take my word for it."

Mostyn was content with his purchase, proud of himself. There was but one hitch, and that occurred later in the morning when Armitage and Treves had moved away to inspect a new arrival at the stables, leaving Mostyn standing alone, a little awkwardly, in the great square yard.

A young man approached him, a tall, broad-shouldered youth, good-looking after a coarse and vulgar style. He was aggressively horsey in his attire, and wore a cap set at the back of his head, displaying sleek hair plastered down over his forehead. This, as Mostyn was subsequently to learn, was Jack Treves, the son of the trainer. He had a familiar way of speaking, and made use of slang which jarred at once upon Mostyn's ears.

He began by making a few casual remarks, then he jerked his head in the direction of his father and of Captain Armitage. "I hear you've bought Castor," he said. "A fine horse, sir."

"Yes," replied Mostyn, "I've bought the colt."

"Well, it may be all right." Jack Treves shook his head doubtfully. "And of course the captain can do what he likes with his own—that is, if it is his own—but I'll bet there'll be ructions, for Castor's entered for the Derby in the name of Miss Armitage, and she's always looked upon him as her particular property." He stooped and picked up a wisp of straw, passing it between his fingers.

"Her property?" faltered Mostyn. "I don't understand."

Jack Treves nibbled at his straw. "The captain didn't tell you then? I thought not. You see, when he went broke three years ago and appeared in the forfeit list at Weatherby's, she sold all her mother's jewels and paid his debts, and it was then that she registered her colours—

"Her colours!" gasped Mostyn. "Do you mean to tell me that Rada—er, Miss Armitage—has registered racing colours?"

"Lor lummy, yes!" was the reply, spoken with a certain malice. "A bit young, of course, but she's not like other girls. She's not had the best of luck, though, up to date, and that's why she's so keen on seeing the lemon and lavender carried to victory at Epsom next year. She simply dotes on Castor, and considers that the colt is hers in return for that jewellery."

Jack Treves threw his whittled straw away. "I guess," he said, "there'll be the devil of a row."

CHAPTER X.

MOSTYN LEARNS HIS ERROR.

Some seven or eight days after the sale of Castor, Captain Armitage reclined at his ease in the dilapidated arm-chair which he particularly affected. He had grown to like the untidiness and the dirt of his dismal little sitting-room, and he would not have altered his immediate surroundings for anything better, even had he been able to do so.

It was about nine o'clock at night. He had partaken of a meagre supper—he never ate much at the best of times—served up in haphazard fashion by the one wretched serving maid, a poor little slut, who did the whole work of the house. The plates and dishes had not been cleared away but were piled up anyhow on a clothless table by his side, and within easy reach of his hand was a bottle of champagne, three parts empty, with which he had been regaling himself. Close by, too, was another bottle which contained brandy; Captain Armitage was very fond of champagne, only he used to say that he preferred it diluted—but he was accustomed to dilute it with brandy instead of water.

He had returned from London the day before, where he had had what he would himself have called "a good time" upon the proceeds of Mostyn's cheque for a thousand pounds. What had become of the money and how much remained over was a secret only known to Captain Armitage; at any rate, to judge by his complacent smile, the smile of a man who was three parts intoxicated—he was not suffering from any pricking of conscience for having disposed of property which did not actually belong to him. He knew that there would be an unpleasant scene when Rada returned, and there were times when he was a little afraid of his petulant, self-willed daughter; but Captain Armitage was the kind of man who lived in the present, and did not unnecessarily worry himself about what might come to pass in the future. He had had his thousand pounds, and that, after all, was the great point.

He had been obliged to tell a lie or so, but that was a matter of very minor importance. He had explained to Mostyn, who had come to him hot with excitement, and dragging young Treves in his wake, to demand an explanation, that it was by Rada's own wish and permission that he had sold the horse. This was the same tale that he had spun for the benefit of old Treves when the idea of raising money upon his daughter's property had first occurred to him. Mostyn had been silenced, but the ominous giggle which had followed him when he turned away was by no means reassuring. He had felt a strange desire to turn back and punch Jack Treves's head, all the more so since the latter had spoken of Rada in a familiar manner, which he resented; but he had restrained himself for the sake of his dignity.

In the days which followed Mostyn had worried Rada's father not a little. He had wanted the girl's address in order that he might write to her, but this Captain Armitage had professed himself quite unable to supply. The girl came and went as she chose, he didn't worry his head about her. She was all right with her Newmarket friends—but he couldn't even remember their name. Finally Captain Armitage departed for London, and then Mostyn hung day after day about Barton Mill House keeping watch for the girl's return. He felt certain that her father had made no provision for her if she arrived home before he did. Very often Mostyn called himself a fool for his pains, for what, after all, was Rada to him? It was all very well to tell himself that he wanted confirmation of her father's story about Castor from her lips—that was true enough, but he wanted more besides, and knew it. It was the magnetic thrill of his whole being induced by her presence that he desired, and, though he could not account for it, the feeling was there and had to be recognised.

Captain Armitage, alone in his dingy sitting-room, had just drained his glass, crossed his slippered feet, which were stretched out upon a second chair, dropped a stump of his cigar—it had been a fine cigar—one of a highly-priced box that he had brought back with him from London—and closed his heavy lids, preparatory to slumber, when Rada herself swept into the room.

She came in like an avalanche, slamming the door behind her; for a moment she stood contemptuously regarding the semi-intoxicated man, then she unceremoniously aroused him to full consciousness of her presence by jerking away the chair upon which his feet reclined. Captain Armitage sat up grumbling and rubbing his heavy eyes.

The girl stood before him, indignation plainly written on every feature. "Father, you've sold Castor!" she cried. "I met Jack Treves not half an hour ago, and he told me. It's the truth, I suppose?"

The man gazed at her vacantly. He had not expected to see his daughter that night, and he was not prepared with any explanation. Weakly he tried to turn the tables. "Where have you been?" he asked, plaintively, "leaving your poor old father all alone like this——" She deigned no reply. He knew where she had been.

"It's the truth, I suppose?" she repeated. "I want to hear it from your own lips."

"Well, you see, my dear," he began, "we are very poor——"

"Is it true?" Rada's lips were compressed together; she was drawing long deep breaths.

He went on mumbling. "We must live. I had debts. They had to be paid somehow. A thousand pounds——"

"So it is true. You've sold Castor for a thousand pounds! You pretended that you were doing it with my permission. Oh father! oh father!"

Her mood changed with its usual lightning velocity. Her eyes were brimming over with tears. Her father was the one man with whom she always sought to hold her temper in sway. It was the instinct of a lifetime. Pitiful, degrading object as he was, long ago as she had given up all hope of effecting any reformation in him, of making him, at least, clean, and manly, and wholesome, he was yet her father, and she had lived with him ever since the death of her mother when she was little more than a child. His deterioration had been gradual; she had fought and struggled against it. She had taken upon herself responsibilities unsuited to a girl of her age, but all her efforts had been in vain. She despised the degraded old man, and that because she saw him with no prejudiced eyes, she saw him for what he was, but at the same time—he was her father.

Regardless of his protests she began to clear away the bottles from the table; she did so by force of habit, though she knew quite well that as soon as her back was turned he would be after them again; there had been times, however, when he had not allowed her to exercise even this authority, when he had stormed in violent fashion, when he had even struck her. On this occasion, however, he ventured nothing more than a feeble protest, lolling back in his chair, smiling foolishly.

"A thousand pounds, my dear, think of it!" he muttered with a drunken chuckle, "think of it! Needs must when the devil drives, you know, and he's been driving at me, goading at me—oh, yes! an ugly devil, and a lot of little imps besides. They wanted gold, and they've got it. But we're going to make our fortunes," he went on, in maddening sing-song monotone, "for there's enough left to back our luck at Sandown and Ascot. That's what I had in mind, my dear. A quick fortune—cash in hand in a week or so—not to wait a whole year for the Derby, and then perhaps come down. There's Pollux, remember—old Rory's Pollux." His head lolled over to one side, and he spoke sleepily. "Besides, young Clithero will give you the colt back when he knows the truth—it's ten to one on that. It'll be all right for you, my dear, and you needn't worry about me."

"Listen to me, father," said Rada, biting her lip to restrain an outburst of anger and disgust at the meanness, the vileness of the whole thing. Her father had calculated upon Mostyn Clithero giving her back her horse when he found out how he had been defrauded. He did not mind what might be thought of himself—he had had his thousand pounds. She dashed her tears away, and stood up by the cupboard before which she had been stooping, attempting to hide the bottles away. "Listen to me," she went on, "try to understand me if you can. Castor was my horse. You gave him to me when he was foaled. Now he has a big chance for the Derby. He was entered in my name. I was his registered proprietor—he was to be ridden in my colours. All my dreams were of Castor; I would sit building castles in the air by the hour together. It brought colour into my life and made me glad to live. You don't know what it has been to me; you cannot understand how I delighted in watching Castor at his gallops, whispering to myself, 'The horse is mine—mine—and in two years' time—in eighteen months' time—in fifteen months' time—I shall watch my horse winning the big race!'—that's how I used to go on; I counted the months, the days, even the hours. All my pride was centred in Castor; and you have sold him—sold him for a thousand pounds!"

Her voice quivered and shook. She was speaking with an intensity of feeling unusual to her. "I watched the little colt as he grew up," she went on, and her tone was low and plaintive now. "I fed him with my own hand, just as I feed Bess, and he got to know and to love me. I gloried over him as I saw him growing handsomer and stronger—growing into what I had expected he would. I knew he would win the Derby for me, every instinct I have told me so. And do you know, father"—she drew a little closer to the old man's chair, but she was not looking at him, she was absorbed in the train of her own thoughts—"it was not only pride that possessed me; Castor was going to make our fortune for us—I felt that, too—and the money would be mine, mine to do with as I wished. I used to sit and dream of the way I should spend that money. We were going to leave this ugly cottage, and have everything nice and pretty about us; we were going to start a new life altogether." Poor Rada! It was such a vain, such a hopeless dream! for, as far as her father was concerned at least, any new life was out of the question.

She caught her breath, and went on speaking, more to herself than to him, quite heedless of the fact that she received no answer. "Oh! it would have been my money—mine, just as Castor was my horse. If you knew, if you could guess, how I have built upon this! But now there is to be no more dreaming for me: the gold has been fairy gold, it has slipped through my fingers like so many dead leaves. You have taken Castor from me—you have sold him for a thousand pounds! And now what is to be done?"

She choked down her sobs, clenched her little fists with characteristic energy, vaguely conscious of the futility of her emotional outburst, and her natural energy of disposition once more coming to the fore, she took a quick step towards her father. "What is to be done?" she repeated.

There was no reply, save for a dull, unintelligent grunt. Captain Armitage's head was lolling over the side of his chair, his eyes were closed, his mouth open. He was asleep—he had been asleep all the while.

Rada's first impulse was to take him by the shoulders and to shake him violently, for, small as she was, she knew that she possessed more strength than he. Her nerves were tingling with suppressed passion, her cheeks were suffused with colour. She touched him on the shoulder; he stirred and muttered, then his hand went out instinctively towards the table as though in search of his glass.

Rada drew back, nauseated. She knew that it was hopeless to protest with such a man as her father—she must leave him to himself. It was for her alone to act.

A few moments later, having loosened his collar and settled him as comfortably as she could in his chair, a horrible task to which she was no stranger, she stole quietly out of the room.

That same evening, Pierce Trelawny, who had been detained by his father at Randor Park, arrived to stay the night with Mostyn at Partinborough Grange. It was too late to visit the paddocks that night, and, unfortunately, Pierce had to hurry on to London by an early train the next day; but it was arranged that Willis should take charge of his bag, so that a hurried inspection of Mostyn's purchase might be made the first thing in the morning, after which Pierce could walk or drive to the station.

The two young men had discussed the situation as they sat together in the drawing-room of the Grange after dinner. Pierce had learnt the full facts by letter, and, acting upon Mostyn's instructions, he had kept the secret to himself. He agreed with Mostyn that this was the wisest plan, though he asked, and obtained, permission to reveal everything to his uncle, Sir Roderick, who, he opined, might be of considerable assistance—if he chose—to Mostyn in a difficult task.

For himself, he was prepared to lend all the help in his power, and place his experience—such as it was—quite at Mostyn's disposition. It would distract his thoughts from Cicely, and from the hardship of his own year's probation. "The governor hasn't yielded an inch," he explained mournfully. "And, of course, I've written everything to Cicely. I can't make the old man out. He threatens me with all sorts of horrible consequences if I disobey him, and all the time there's a sort of twinkle in his eye, as if he found it amusing to bully me. But about yourself? You've got to buck up, you know. There's no time to be lost."

Mostyn acquiesced. "I've made a start by purchasing Castor," he said. "That has cost me a thousand pounds."

"Cheap, too, if the horse is all you tell me," commented the other. "Well, you may run Castor for the Guineas and for the Derby, but you mustn't neglect your other chances. What about the Royal Hunt Cup? That is the race which falls first upon your list, I believe."

Mostyn quite agreed that the Royal Hunt Cup must not be overlooked, although there only remained a fortnight or three weeks in which to purchase a horse, already entered, for this race. "I suppose I ought to have set about it before," he said rather limply, "but the fact is, you see, I've been busy getting this house in order, and——" he broke off suddenly. He did not like to tell Pierce the actual reason for which, having purchased Castor, he had remained on at Partinborough. The fact was that he had been on the look-out every day for Rada, that he could not tear himself away.

Suddenly he blurted out the truth. "The girl fascinates me," he said, in conclusion. "I can't understand how, or why. I don't quite know if I hate or love her, but I'm quite sure that I want to master her, to punish her somehow for having mocked me. She has challenged me twice, and I want to be even with her. That's how we stand." He blushed as he spoke, staring viciously at the toe of his shoe.

Pierce gave a low whistle. "You're in love, Mostyn," he said, "and you've taken the complaint rather badly and in a particularly dangerous style. I shall have to get you out of this, and as quickly as possible: you may think of Rada as much as you like next year, or when you've won your title to the legacy, but till then you must be on probation, old chap, just as I am."

Mostyn agreed that his friend was right, and so it was decided between them that he should join Pierce in London in two or three days' time, and that they should devote their energies to finding suitable horses to run for the Hunt Cup as well as the Goodwood Cup a little later on. As a necessary preliminary step, Pierce had already entered Mostyn for the National Sporting Club and also for the Albert and the Victoria, and the sooner he put in an appearance there, to make the acquaintance of the leading sporting men, the better.

The two friends reached the paddocks very early the next morning, and Pierce looked Castor over before the colt was led out of his stable to exercise. He scrutinised the animal with the eye of a man of experience, and commented upon this and that point in a manner which filled Mostyn with envy.

"Plenty of mettle and spirit," he said, dodging quickly out of the way, as Castor, conscious no doubt of a strange hand upon his hock, pranced to and fro in his stall. "In fine condition, too. I can see nothing to carp at; if half of old William Treves's tales are true, I should say you've got a good thing, Mostyn, and cheap at the price you paid."

Pierce's good opinion was in no way altered when he had seen the horse at exercise. He stood with his friend by the stable wall facing the great bare track of country, over which Treves's horses followed each other in straight, unbroken line. William Treves himself was absent that day at Newmarket, but presently the two young men were joined by his son Jack, who strolled leisurely up, and began to talk in his usual familiar fashion.

Mostyn had seen a good deal of Jack Treves during the past week, and nearer acquaintance had not improved his liking. He was quite sure that the trainer's son had conceived a jealousy of him, imagining, no doubt, that he and Rada were old friends. It was very evident by the way he spoke of her that Jack considered he had a claim upon Rada's affections, a claim which Mostyn, jealous in his turn, resented.

Having seen Castor put through his paces, Pierce was loud in his praise of Mostyn's purchase, repeating all he had said in the stable, and even appealing to Jack Treves to confirm his opinion. The latter stood lounging against a post, smoking a cigarette, his thick lips parted in an irritating smile. Mostyn could not help thinking that there was something at the back of his brain to which he did not wish to give expression. He had laughed outright once or twice without apparent cause, and there was a palpable sneer on his lips as he turned to Mostyn and informed him that Miss Armitage had returned the day before, and would no doubt put in an appearance that morning.

Jack had divined correctly. It was as Castor, bestridden by a stable lad, was drawn up almost opposite to them, and while the attention of all three was bestowed upon the horse, that Mostyn heard a voice close behind him, calling him by name, and turned to find himself face to face with Rada. She had ridden up upon Bess, had dismounted, leaving the mare to wander at will, and had approached unnoticed.

"Mr. Clithero."

Mostyn felt that peculiar thrill pass through him which was always called forth by her presence. As on a former occasion her Christian name had nearly escaped his lips, but this time he was able to check himself. There was a glitter in the girl's eyes, and her lips were drawn together in a manner which appeared to him rather ominous. It was the first time he had seen her dressed in a riding habit, and he thought how well it became her; at the same time he was glad that she had not abandoned her straw hat, the red poppies of which toned in so well with the dark tresses beneath them. She was looking deliriously pretty, but Mostyn wondered in what mood she would display herself. He had been forced to accept Captain Armitage's assurances about Castor, but, all the same, he had not been wholly satisfied. He remembered her challenge as to winning a Derby, "with some chance of success, too," she had said. Could she have been thinking of Castor?

But of course the colt was his by every right. He turned, smiling brightly, and extended his hand to the girl. She responded, but her fingers lay cold and passive in his grasp. "We've been watching Castor at exercise, Miss Armitage," he said with enthusiasm. "He's a beauty, and I can't tell you how grateful I am to you for letting me have him. I've brought my friend Mr. Trelawny to see him: you know Mr. Trelawny, I think."

Pierce, with every intention of saying the right thing, piled fuel to the fire as he, in his turn, shook hands with Rada. "I was awfully surprised," he said, "to learn that Mostyn had been lucky enough to buy such a horse as Castor. I was saying only just now, that if one could judge of a Derby winner from a two-year-old——"

The frown on Rada's forehead deepened, her lips puckered up, and her uncontrollable tongue had its way. "I should hate Castor to win the Derby for Mr. Clithero or for anyone else. Castor is my horse, and he was sold without my consent." She turned passionately upon Mostyn, her black eyes shining. "It was mean and cowardly of you!" she said. "You did it because of what I said to you the other day. You did it to spite me! Can't you fight fair? Aren't there enough horses in the world for you to buy, without robbing me of the one ambition, the one hope of my life?"

Jack Treves chuckled. The scene had begun just as he had anticipated. But Rada turned and fixed her eyes indignantly upon him, and he took the hint and moved away.

"Miss Armitage, I had no idea," stammered Mostyn; "believe me—I——

"May I have a few words with you alone?" she interrupted.

Mostyn glanced helplessly at his friend. Pierce awkwardly pulled out his watch. "It's time I was off," he said hurriedly. "It will take me a few minutes to get to the station, and really there's only just time. We shall meet on Friday as arranged."

He took hasty leave of his friend and of Rada. "Jove, how her eyes glistened!" he muttered to himself as he hurried away. "Can Mostyn really have fallen in love with the girl? Why, she's—she's a regular little spit-fire; what's more, she'll have the horse back, if I'm not mistaken." He gave one of his characteristic whistles. "Poor Mostyn!" he added sympathetically.

CHAPTER XI.

MOSTYN MAKES REPARATION.

"Take the horse away!" commanded Rada, petulantly, as soon as Pierce had disappeared. The stable-lad mounted upon Castor had been staring at the little group, undecided if he was still wanted, or if the inspection of the horse was concluded.

"Take him away!" she repeated, flashing angry eyes upon the boy. "I can't bear to look at him now," she added under her breath.

The lad touched the reins and Castor trotted quickly away. Mostyn and Rada were left in the comparative solitude of the great open space, though every now and again the sound of shouting came to them from the distance, and through the mist of the morning they could discern the shadowy forms of men and horses.

Rada sank down upon a bench, clasping her little hands about her knees; Mostyn stood by her side, waiting till she should have composed herself. He anticipated a painful scene: his worst fears had been realised, and even from the few words she had spoken, he understood what Rada must think of him. Of course, he was really guiltless of offence; he had been deceived, swindled, but even though Rada recognised this, she would still think that, actuated by his desire to checkmate her, he had taken the opportunity of gaining an unfair advantage.

He was sorry for Rada, and he was sorry for himself as well, for he saw at once where lay his duty. He knew even now what he would have to do. There must be no imputation of unfairness against him: he was bound, by the force of circumstances, to a contest with the girl, but he would fight in the open. She had issued the challenge with all the advantage on her side, but he felt no animosity against her for this: she had spoken just as she, a wayward, impulsive girl, might have been expected to speak. His only trouble was that she should have grounds for thinking ill of him.

He no longer felt bashful and shy in her presence. So much, at least, was in his favour. He seemed to know and understand her better for having seen the squalor and wretchedness of her home, for having realised the surroundings in which she lived. Then the Willis's had spoken so freely of her, almost every day, encouraged, of course, by Mostyn; he had felt at last that he had known the girl for years, and that her vagaries were no new thing to him.

Perhaps he knew her better than she knew herself; so Mostyn, who had had no experience of women, told himself in his conceit. It was all very well for her to pretend to be hard and wayward and selfish: he knew better. He knew what reason the villagers had for loving her; why, only yesterday old Mrs. Oldham at the post office had told him how Rada had given up days and days to nurse a little child who was ill with bronchitis, and who might have died of it had it not been for Rada's care of her. "If I could make her see herself and show herself to me in her true character," Mostyn muttered, "then we might be—well, friends, as well as rivals. If I could!"

Unfortunately, as well as having no knowledge of women, Mostyn was not possessed of much tact. And so, as usual, he blundered egregiously when he attempted to put his ideas into practice.

"I think, Mr. Clithero," Rada began, "that you have taken a very mean way of revenging yourself upon me. I thought you would have had more manly feelings——"

He knew what she meant, but he was in such a hurry to defend himself that he failed to find the words he wanted.

"I was rude to you the other night," Rada went on relentlessly. "I was rude to you at the Derby. I couldn't help myself. I always say just what comes into my head."

Mostyn was quite aware of this, but he did not mean to say so; he wanted to be very gentle with Rada, quite unconscious that gentleness was the one thing which in her present temper she would resent. "I don't think you meant to hurt," he said softly.

"I did," she retorted viciously. "You made such an idiot of yourself, nobody could have helped being rude and laughing at you. And yet it's you—a man who hasn't the smallest idea of racing, a man who'd buy a donkey and enter it for the Derby if he acted upon his own intelligence—it's you who, because you know I laid store by my horse, and because you've got some insane idea in your head of besting me on the racecourse—it's you who've played me this trick!" She spoke violently without the smallest attempt to weigh her words. "You knew Castor was mine," she went on. "You must have guessed it from what I said the other night. You knew, too, that my father is not to be depended upon. And if you had not known all that, Jack Treves told you the truth immediately after you had made the purchase; there was plenty of time to repair the error, if you had not been spiteful against me."

Mostyn flushed, stung by the injustice, but he was quite determined that he would not lose his temper. "You misjudge me," he said, "you misjudge me utterly. The whole thing has been a mistake, and if I have been to blame in any way I am quite willing to repair the error." He had no wish to enter into any long explanation, or to cast the blame where he knew it was merited, upon Rada's father. He realised, and very probably correctly, that this would only appear a further meanness in the girl's eyes. "The position is very simple," he went on, "and there is no need for you to scold me, Miss Armitage; please consider that Castor is yours."

It was Rada's turn to flush, for this was just what her father had hinted at, what he had no doubt relied upon. To accept Castor as a gift at Mostyn's hands was the very last thing which, in her present mood, she was prepared to do.

She drew herself up stiffly. "You are very kind," she said, "but do you think that we are beggars, my father and I, that you dare to make such a suggestion? What are you to me that I should accept a present from you?"

"Since there has been a mistake," Mostyn said, vainly striving to reconcile the girl's inconsistency in his mind, "I want to repair it the best way I can."

"Quite forgetting that there is such a thing as pride," Rada interrupted, "and that I have my fair share of it. No, Mr. Clithero, you have bought Castor, and Castor is yours, unless I am able to purchase him back. That is what I wish to see you about. I love my horse," she went on, sucking in her lips as though she found it difficult to make her explanation, "and there are many reasons why Castor should be particularly dear to me. So, since, as you say, the whole thing has been a mistake, you will let me buy Castor back. My father is bound to let me have the money," she added mendaciously, "when he knows how badly I want my horse."

Mostyn knew that this was not true, that Captain Armitage was the last man in the world to disgorge any money that he had become possessed of by any means whatsoever. He knew, too, that there were certainly no funds upon which Rada could draw, and he wondered vaguely how she proposed to raise a thousand pounds to repay him.

"I'd far sooner give you the horse," he said, "for, after all, I should be returning you your own. I want to have a shot for the next Derby, Miss Armitage," he went on, "and it isn't only because I have a sort of a bet with you. That's a motive with me, certainly, but it isn't all. However, I can find another horse, and really the money is of no importance to me. We are rivals, you and I, both eager to win, but both wanting to play the game fairly. You shall have Castor and I will look out for myself; is that a bargain?"

"Not unless I can pay you the thousand pounds," she retorted. "But if I can succeed in doing that, and without undue delay, Castor shall be mine again, and our rivalry can begin as soon as ever you like." She laughed derisively. "If it does, I don't think there'll be much chance for you, Mr. Clithero."

He shrugged his shoulders, seeing no use in argument. He did not want to accept Rada's thousand pounds, but he had sense to see that it was quite useless, as matters stood, to suggest any other solution of the difficulty.

"It shall be just as you please, Miss Armitage," he said with an effort to appear cheerful. "I'm going to do my best to win the Derby, but it won't be with Castor."

She rose from the bench upon which she had been sitting and once more extended her cold hand. "Thank you," she said. "There's nothing more to be settled for the present between us. You shall have your money and I my horse. That's decided."

Mostyn held her hand in his for a moment, despite her effort to withdraw it. He looked straight into her eyes. "I wonder," he said, "why we always meet to quarrel? I should like to be on better terms with you, Miss Armitage. We can be rivals and yet good friends, can't we? I am sorry that this misunderstanding should have happened, but really I'm not to blame."

He released the girl's hand, which fell to her side. Rada tapped the ground petulantly with her foot. Truth to tell, she was a little ashamed of herself. Mostyn may not have been so much to blame, after all; her father had a plausible tongue. But she was in a mood when to admit herself in the wrong would have been an impossibility for her. Had Mostyn been wise he would have left her alone; reflection and repentance would have come in due course. As it was, she hated him at that moment even for his offer to return Castor to her. How dared he even think that she would consent to such a thing?

She had no dislike for Mostyn really. In her heart she admired his clean, well-cut features, his stalwart, manly frame. More than once she had mentally compared him with other men of her acquaintance, especially with Jack Treves, and the comparison had been all in Mostyn's favour. Perhaps it was because she did not understand her own feelings, because she was too contradictory to yield to them, that she had always instinctively adopted an aggressive attitude when with Mostyn. In a sense it was against herself that she was fighting. How could she, who had been brought up almost from babyhood to the love of sport, have any esteem for such a greenhorn as this otherwise good-looking and good-tempered boy? It was that feeling that had impelled her to make fun of him, and which had caused her to resent bitterly what she had regarded as an attempt on his part to get the better of her.

A peculiar pugnacity had been aroused within her; perhaps the wild and wayward little creature was moved, without knowing it, by the natural strife between sex and sex. She felt instinctively the desire of the man to subdue and win her, and all her senses were accordingly in revolt.

"I suppose you think I'm a little minx, a sort of wild cat," she said, not looking at him but at the ground. "It's been my fault that we've quarrelled, and now you are reproaching me for it."

"You're hard to understand, Ra—Miss Armitage," Mostyn said; "there's no doubt whatever about that, but I don't think you are a bit the minx you are inclined to make yourself out to be." He was staring at her, admiring her neat figure with its delicate curves, her nicely poised head, and her black curls that, in the sunlight, had a tint of glowing blue in them; he could not see her eyes, but he imagined that they must glint with the same blue. He wanted her to look up, but she still stared at the little well-shod foot with which she was still tapping the ground.

"Yes I am, I'm bad-tempered; I say cruel things; I hurt people! But why shouldn't I?" she added defiantly, "when there's no one I care for and no one who cares for me? I've been brought up like that. I am hard by nature, and I don't see why I should pretend to be any other than I am."

Mostyn laughed a little. "I know better," he said. "You've got a heart of gold, Miss Armitage, though out of sheer perversity you don't like people to know it. But I've found you out, you see, though we've only known each other such a little while and quarrelled every time we've met."

"What do you mean?" she cried. She was looking up now, and her eyes had the blue glint in them, just as he had expected. They flashed upon him, but he could not tell if it were with anger or surprise.

"You say that nobody loves you, and you love nobody. If so, why are you always doing little acts of kindness to people? Why do all the villagers adore you?"

She stamped her foot. "I've got to do something," she cried. "I must occupy myself somehow. But that isn't the real me, the real Rada Armitage; you are quite mistaken if you think so. I'm as you've seen me, as I appear up in London—hard, cruel, a flirt, everything that's bad. Ask my father; he always calls me a little devil; I've been called a little devil ever since I can remember."

"I know others who call you an angel, with an aspirate tacked on," Mostyn laughed. He was rather enjoying himself; it was amusing telling the girl her good qualities and hearing them so violently contradicted. It was Rada's nature to contradict, that was very evident, but it was quite delicious to make her protest that she was all that was bad when the truth was so palpably otherwise.

"What is one to believe, what you say yourself or what others say of you? I know what I think," he went on, more than half-conscious that he was goading the girl into a fresh passion. But how could she resent it when he was really praising her? "The real Rada Armitage is kind-hearted and good——"

"No she isn't, she's—oh, I don't know what you are making me say! You are perfectly horrid! What's the good of telling a girl she's an angel when she feels quite the reverse? That's just like a man." Rada turned away, angrily biting her lip. "I don't want to hear any more of my virtues, thank you, Mr. Clithero; I'd like you better if you told me I was a beast. And now please excuse me, for I'm going to the stables to see Jack Treves. He doesn't tell me I'm an angel," she added viciously.

Mostyn made no reply; and after waiting a moment as though she expected him to speak, Rada turned on her heel and went in search of her mare, which was quietly grazing close at hand.

CHAPTER XII.

MOSTYN TELLS HIS LOVE.

"A misunderstanding! Yes, of course, absolutely a misunderstanding." Captain Armitage waved his arm airily, as he expressed this opinion. "I'm sorry that it should have happened, but Rada quite gave me to believe——"

"Yes, of course. I understand you would not have sold Castor to me unless you had concluded that the sale had your daughter's approval." Mostyn spoke quite seriously, though he knew well enough that the old man's excuses were not genuine; but he had no desire to hurl reproaches at the wretched drunkard, who, after all, was Rada's father. Mostyn told himself, with something of that good humour under adverse circumstances which was typical of him, that he ought to have known better at the beginning; that he ought to have judged his man, and that it was his own fault he had been taken in.

The loss of a thousand pounds seemed of little importance to him just then, for he had resources behind him which, to his inexperience, seemed inexhaustible. He was at heart an optimist, and did not doubt, in spite of this reverse, that he would successfully carry out the terms of Anthony Royce's will. Taken altogether, there were a dozen races open to him, and surely, with so much money at his disposition, he would be able to find a winner for one of them.

So it was that in the afternoon of that day, Mostyn had come to Captain Armitage's house, had explained that there had evidently been a mistake over the sale of Castor, and announced his desire to return the horse to Rada, its legitimate proprietor. Since Rada had refused to accept the horse, Mostyn had seen this as the only possible way open to him. He did not for a minute believe that the girl would be able to raise the thousand pounds, and he thought that when her temper subsided and she understood what had been done she would accept the situation without further protest. Mostyn rather plumed himself upon his diplomacy.

Since the sun was shining brightly, Captain Armitage was lolling in a deck-chair which he had placed very near the centre of the wretched little lawn of Barton Mill House, and he had been indulging in a nap when Mostyn had interrupted him. He had not been in the best of humours at first, evidently preparing to meet an attack, anticipating a demand for explanations; but Mostyn had quickly undeceived him, and stated clearly what he intended to do, after which, as well he might, Captain Armitage had subsided into smiles and amiability.

"You want me to take Castor back?" he said. "Very well, very well." There was certainly no pride about Captain Armitage. "A mistake has been made "—he rubbed his bony hands together—"and nobody is to blame; neither you nor Rada, nor I—certainly not I—and you want to put matters straight."

"You are certainly the one who has profited by the mistake," Mostyn could not help saying.

"Ah, my dear young friend"—Armitage puffed at his cigar, another extracted from the expensive box which he had brought back from London, and which had been purchased with Mostyn's money—"somebody must usually profit, and somebody lose by every mistake. In this case it's you who lose, and of course I'm sorry for you. I'd willingly stand my share of the loss; I'd refund—yes, I'd willingly refund you five hundred pounds—only, unfortunately, the money is already involved—that is, I've made the bets I spoke to you about. But look here"—he started up from his chair in the jerky manner peculiar to him—"you shall have the tips, and that's just like putting money into your pocket. You won't regret having had a deal with Captain Armitage. You back Cardigan for the Royal Hunt Cup; put your bottom dollar on it——"

"Thank you," said Mostyn coldly. "I don't bet; I never intend to bet."

"Don't bet!" Armitage sank back into his chair again. "Well, I'm blessed! Here's a young man who professes to be going in for racing, and who says he doesn't bet! Never heard of such a thing, never!" Armitage stared at Mostyn as though he were looking upon some new and remarkable species of animal.

"I suppose you don't understand racing for the mere sake of sport," Mostyn said. "Anyway, that's how it appeals to me, and though I've lost Castor I propose to look out for another horse for next year's Derby. Your daughter and I are going to be rivals, Captain Armitage."

The captain was on the alert again. "Another horse—next year's Derby," he mused. "Well, let me see; perhaps I can be of use to you after all." He was evidently turning over in his mind the means of effecting another deal, probably as advantageous to himself as the last.

But Mostyn wanted no further business dealings with Captain Armitage. "Thank you," he said, "but I need no assistance in this matter. But now as to Castor," he went on; "I want it to be clearly understood—and you must write me a letter to this effect, Captain Armitage—that the horse is to be, and to remain, your daughter's property: Castor is to run in the Derby in her name, and of course, should he win, the money that accrues is to be her property absolutely. Upon that understanding, and that understanding only, I give up possession."

"Surely, surely. It shall be just as you wish. I always meant Rada to have Castor, and I don't grudge her the money a bit," said Armitage magnanimously. "I'll write you the letter—yes, certainly. And now you'll have a drink, won't you, since this matter has been so amicably settled? And perhaps I can find you one of these cigars; I can recommend them." To give away a cigar was an extravagance of which Captain Armitage was rarely guilty, but one, upon this occasion, he felt he could afford.