in the case.

"Bless her!" he said to himself. "She's the dearest little witch that
ever breathed. She ought to have been here by now. They haven't seen
her at the paddock, and I can't get a peep at La Sylphide. I believe
they haven't brought her up yet. Well, no wonder, considering her
temper. Josh Rowle knows what he's about."

He took out his glass again, focussed it, and had a good look through it
at the common, alive with horse, foot and artillery, in the shape of
carriages laden with ammunition, loaded bottles ready to go off
included.

"Does she do it to lead me on?" thought the doctor. "I wish I wasn't
such a coward. But, there, if the Sylph wins I shall feel independent,
and can go at her without thinking I'm a money-hunter. Then, if shell
ask me to dinner, which I think she will, the wine will be in and the
wit may be out, but I'll pop as well as her champagne, and know the
worst. By Jove!"

He closed his glass suddenly, for, brightly and fashionably dressed,
Lady Tilborough passed close to the window and stopped his view of the
common. The next minute she was entering the hall.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE FLOATING CLOUD.

"Oh, there you are, Simpkins! You must make room for my carriage.
Order them to give my coachman a separate stable. Lock up. Ah, Dr
Granton, I thought you'd come and see my mare win."

"I came down on purpose to see you, Lady Tilborough," was the reply,
given with a warm pressure of the hand. "But, of course, I am longing
to see your mare carry all before her."

"Thanks, doctor, thanks," said the lady, with a meaning smile which made
the doctor thrill. "Yes, I mean to win. There are some nice people
staying at the Court. I'll introduce you on the stand, if I have time.
But you'll come over afterwards and dine?"

"Oh, thank you, yes," cried the doctor, flushing with pleasure. "So
good of you. Can I do anything? Let me see that your horses are
properly put up."

"Oh, no, no, no, the coachman will see to that, I could not think of
troubling you."

"Trouble?" said the doctor, with what was intended for an intense gaze
full of meaning. "Don't talk of trouble, Lady Tilborough, when you
know."

"Yes, I know that I am full of anxiety about my mare, and in no humour
for listening to nonsense, so hold your tongue. Oh, here's that
dreadful man again."

For the visitor to the Denes of that morning, minus his little white
mongrel, but flourishing his pack of race-