He walked slowly around The Prince, and he, who had known horses from his childhood, marveled much at the absolute faultlessness of this young colt. He was modeled for speed, and speed alone, from the tips of his veined ears to his small, polished hoofs. There was not a line at fault, and, unbidden, a great wave of enthusiasm swept the man.
"You will race him this summer?" he queried.
"Yes, if he lives till then," she answered, with some sadness.
"Don't fear but he will live. I pledge you my word he shall be on the track when the day comes."
Julia looked at him with moist eyes.
"You are wondrous kind." Then, with a sudden brightening—"The Prince is fast. Oh, you don't know! He really runs like the wind; so rapidly that it almost frightens you. But this is a secret, you know. Still it has gotten abroad, somehow, and that's why the stable burned, for there are those not far away who also own fast horses, and it would almost kill them to have our Prince victorious."
A scowl darkened the face of the tall, spare man in front of her.
"I can scarcely believe such dastardly cowards are alive. But don't fear them. They shall not harm your horse, and after this night I think their designs upon his life will cease."
"O I fear the night!" she cried. "But remember your promise to father. I wish it was all over, and morning was here again!"
His deep, soft chest laugh reassured her.