Guy's kindly impulses vanished instantly before the sarcasm latent in those last two words. He could sacrifice his own victory and the hopes of his backers, but he would not give a chance to Flora's merciless tongue. We saw him change his hold on the reins, and, with a shake and a fierce thrust of the spurs, he set the Axeine fairly going.
Every man on the ground, including his late owner [who hated himself bitterly at that moment for parting with him], was taken by surprise by the extraordinary speed the horse displayed. He raced up to Bella Donna just before the last fence, at which she hangs ever so little, while he takes it in his swing, covering good nine yards from hoof to hoof. Nothing but hurdles now between them and home. The down-hill run-in favors his vast stride. A thousand voices echo Flora's words, "The chestnut wins!" Charley made his effort exactly at the right time, and the brave little mare answered gallantly; but it was not to be. He shook his head, and never touched her with whip or spur again.
The race was over. No one disputed the judge's fiat: "The Axeine by six lengths."
Up to the skies went the hats and the shouts of the sturdy yeomen, who "know'd he couldn't be beat," exulting in the success of their favorite. Round winner and loser crowded their friends, congratulating the one, condoling with the other, praising both for their riding. At that moment I do not think any one except myself remarked Isabel Raymond, who sat somewhat apart, her tears falling fast under her veil as she looked upon her lost ring.
Just then Forrester rode up. "Woe to the vanquished!" he said. "All is lost but honor. Will you say something kind to me after my defeat, Miss Raymond? You will find your pet not punished in the least, and without a scratch on her."
Without answering, she held out her hand. As he bent over it, and whispered, what I could not hear, I saw her eyes sparkle, and a happy consciousness flush her cheeks, till they glowed like a sky at sunset when a storm is passing away in the west. Then I knew that he had won a richer prize than ever was set on a race since the first Great Metropolitan was run for at Olympia.
Livingstone had washed away the traces of his fall (his wound was only a cut under the hair, above the temple), and was going to get the horses in line to start them for the farmers' cup. As he passed Miss Bellasys he checked his horse for an instant, and said, very coldly,
"You are satisfied, I trust?"
"All's well that ends well," answered Flora; "but I began to tremble for my bets. I thought you were waiting too long."
Guy did not wish to pursue the subject apparently, for he rode on without reply. Flora made no attempt to detain him. She had studied the signs of the times in his countenance long enough to be weather-wise, and to know that the better part of valor was advisable when the quicksilver had sunk to Stormy.