Then the nightmare passed.
The boy on the brown rallied; and, it seemed, a fainting nation rallied with him.
He steadied himself, sat still as a cloud for a moment, and then stirred deliberately and of set purpose.
He was asking his horse the question. There was no doubt of the reply.
Four-Pound shot to the front like a long-dammed stream.
His vampire enemy clung for a desperate moment, and then faded away behind amid the groans of his maddened supporters and the acclamations of the triumphant Englishmen.
"Got her dead to the world!" cried Old Mat, a note of battle resounding deeply through his voice. "What price Putnam's now!" And he thumped the rail.
But the end was not even yet. The great English horse came moving like a flood round the corner and swooped gloriously over the last fence.
The roar that had held the air toppled away into a sound as of a world-avalanche, shot with screams.
The jockey in green had pitched forward as his horse landed.