g, not mine."

"Ah, well, then," exclaimed Sylla, "perhaps it is my obstinacy, not my
rashness. I can be obstinate, you know, Lionel; but you will run for
me all the same, won't you?"

"I think it a very foolish wager," he replied, "and that you will
probably lose your bracelet; but I cannot say no if you insist upon it,
and must only do my best."

"You must run," she replied, quickly. "I could not be so cowardly as
to 'cry off' now. You _must_ run, and you _will_ win, I feel. Nobody
here believes it but me; but I know it." Then, leaning towards him,
she said, with a light laugh, and in tones so low that the others could
not overhear her words, "Lose if you dare, sir!"

Blanche Bloxam, who had come up with Mr. Sartoris and Beauchamp, was no
better pleased than her mother at hearing her late cavalier so
familiarly addressed by such an extremely pretty girl as Sylla
Chipchase. As for Lionel, he turned away in a quiet matter-of-fact
manner, and said,

"I suppose somebody here can lend me a pair of shoes; and as soon as I
have fitted myself out with those, I am at your disposal, Mr. Montague,
whenever you like."

Any amount of cricket and racket-shoes were speedily placed at
Beauchamp's disposal; and Montague having said that he should be
prepared to try conclusions with the new-comer in half an hour, the
match at once became the subject of animated discussion. But if the
Engineer had been favourite before, he was still more so now. With all
the _prestige_ of having beaten the Aldershot champion, it was but
natural that the camp should proffer liberal odds on their "crack"
against an unknown man, and the stanchest adherents of Todborough stood
aloof, with the exception of Mr. Cottrel, and his faith, to speak
correctly, was the result of his belief in Sylla Chipchase.

"Won't you wish me luck, Miss Bloxam?" said Lionel, quietly, as the
bugle summoned the competitors in the match to the starting-post.

"Certainly, with all my heart," rejoined Blanche. "All our sympathies
are of course with you. But do you think you can win?"

"I really don't know. If it was only a mile, Montague would find me
troublesome to get rid of; but this is hardly far enough for me."

The "novice," as the camp with much promptitude christened him, was
keenly scanned when, having divested himself of his coat, he appeared
at the post. A slight, dark, wiry young fellow, with a terrible
wear-and-tear look about him that should make