He had backed a horse on the big race to be run that day for more money than he possessed. He had staked honour and love on a horse he had never even seen. If it won he was saved. He could face his father, pay his debts, and, supposing he had failed, go up yet once again for his final examination.
If it lost——?
On the table a letter lay from his father in Devonshire enclosing a cheque—the last he would be able to send him.
There was also a letter from Ruby Strode, reminding him that he had promised to take her to see the big race that day.
Rupert picked up his father's letter and looked at the cheque. For five pounds only. It was drawn by Reginald Crichton, of Post Bridge Hall, made payable to John Allen Dale. His father had endorsed it.
Rupert smiled and fingered the cheque thoughtfully. Five pounds! Quite a lot of money—to his father; probably he did not spend as much in a month. And Rupert's conscience pricked him.
He set his teeth and swept aside the accumulation of unanswered letters and bills.
Ruin! An ugly word. He repeated it aloud—and laughed. It savoured of the melodramatic. Yet here was ruin facing him. He looked up and saw it blotting out the sunshine.
It had come upon him stealthily, like a thief in the night. And at the same time Love had come, too!
Again Rupert laughed.