d the
water, and, landing clear, launched forward with the lunge of a spear
darted through air. Brixworth was passed--the Scarlet and White, a mere
gleam of bright color, a mere speck in the landscape, to the breathless
crowds in the stand, sped on over the brown and level grassland; two and
a quarter miles done in four minutes and twenty seconds. Bay Regent
was scarcely behind him; the chestnut abhorred the water, but a finer
trained hunter was never sent over the Shires, and Jimmy Delmar rode
like Grimshaw himself. The giant took the leap in magnificent style,
and thundered on neck and neck with the "Guards' Crack." The Irish mare
followed, and with miraculous gameness, landed safely; but her hind legs
slipped on the bank, a moment was lost, and "Baby" Grafton scarce knew
enough to recover it, though he scoured on, nothing daunted.

Pas de Charge, much behind, refused the yawner; his strength was not
more than his courage, but both had been strained too severely at first.
Montacute struck the spurs into him with a savage blow over the head;
the madness was its own punishment; the poor brute rose blindly to the
jump, and missed the bank with a reel and a crash; Sir Eyre was hurled
out into the brook, and the hope of the Heavies lay there with his
breast and forelegs resting on the ground, his hindquarters in the
water, and his neck broken. Pas de Charge would never again see the
starting flag waved, or hear the music of the hounds, or feel the
gallant life throb and glow through him at the rallying notes of the
horn. His race was run.

Not knowing, or looking, or heeding what happened behind, the trio tore
on over the meadow and the plowed; the two favorites neck by neck, the
game little mare hopelessly behind through that one fatal moment over
Brixworth. The turning-flags were passed; from the crowds on the
course a great hoarse roar came louder and louder, and the shouts rang,
changing every second: "Forest King wins!" "Bay Regent wins!" "Scarlet
and White's ahead!" "Violet's up with him!" "A cracker on the King!"
"Ten to one on the Regent!" "Guards are over the fence first!" "Guards
are winning!" "Guards are losing!" "Guards are beat!"

Were they?

As the shout rose, Cecil's left stirrup-leather snapped and gave way; at
the pace they were going most men, aye, and good riders too, would have
been hurled out of their saddle by the shock; he scarcely swerved; a
moment to ease the King and to recover his equilibrium