g from Schumann's "Dichter-liebe," with an intensity
of passion in the clear tenor notes that thrilled the soul of every
listener.

In the silence which fell on the little company when the last chords
died away, Jasper Vermont, half-hidden by the curtain, opened the
window, and slipped out on the terrace. The moon shone full on his white
face, distorted with an unaccountable fury, as he muttered through his
clenched teeth: "Curse the fellow! How I hate him!"

CHAPTER X

The morning of the race dawned clear and bright, and the Leroy course
shone like a strip of emerald velvet in the crisp, sparkling air.

Since sunrise, throngs of people, men, women, and children, had been
streaming in from the outlying districts, some many miles away; while at
the side of the course stretched a long line of vehicles of all kinds,
which had already disbursed their load.

In twos and threes the late horses arrived swaddled in cloths, and
surrounded by the usual crowd of bow-legged grooms and diminutive
jockeys; while the air reeked with the smell of the stable and the oaths
and slang of the men.

Later still came the bookmakers with their brisk, business-like method
of entering the bets, big or small; the "swell's" thousand or the
countryman's shilling were all one to them. And lastly, amid all the din
and turmoil of the most crowded meeting Barminster had ever witnessed,
came the army of the Castle servants to put the finishing touches to the
boxes in the grand stand, over which floated the Leroy colours.

Towards noon, the hour at which the first race was to be run, the crowd
grew denser, the excitement keener.

"Two to one on 'King Cole'--three to one 'Miracour'--and five to one
'Bay Star'--six to one, bar three"--all these cries rose in a loud,
turbulent roar. It was known to all that the "swells"--as they termed
the Castle people--had backed their champion "King Cole" for sums which,
as Jasper Vermont had rightly said the preceding night, would almost
equal his weight in gold; and such was their faith in him that no other
horse had been entered from that same county.

Twelve o'clock struck, and no signs as yet of the Leroy party; that is
to say, with the exception of one man, namely, Mr. Jasper Vermont.

"Your swells are always late," said a thick-lipped turfite, biting his
stubby pencil prior to booking a favourable bet. "They gives any money
for style, an' plays it high on us. It ain