The success of Sir Hew seemed almost certain. There was only a trifling post and rails obstruction between him and the straight run in, and he was a comfortable distance ahead of his most dangerous enemy. The owner of Highdrift began to lose hope, and bewail his confounded luck. If Airton had not got in his way, he thought, things might have been different.
After all that had occurred in connection with the race, it galled him to the quick to think he was likely to be beaten, and, of all men, by Sir Hew, and in sight of the duchess.
But there are many slips between the cup and the lip, and ships have been known to founder in summer seas. Whether it was carelessness, or the horse got frightened at the yelling of the mob, or was tired, cannot be said now, but, in taking the most insignificant obstacle of the whole course, Springtrap for the first time made a mistake, and came down heavily, pitching Sir Hew on his head.
The baronet never spoke more. When picked up it was discovered that his neck was broken.
Moordown had now the race in hand, and he passed the Grand Stand six lengths in front of Conqueror, next to whom came Idol and Eye of Night.
Moordown was a general favourite, and the many congratulations he received were hearty and sincere, but he would have bartered them all, and Highdrift also, for the little smile of recognition bestowed on him by the duchess. The accidents—there was a third, which was not, however, of a serious nature—damped the gaiety of the meeting, and Billy Platt invented a special curse for the new race, which he repeats to this day.
On the following forenoon an interview took place at the Castle between the duchess and Mr. Moordown.
"I have brought you the Gauntlet, duchess," he said, kneeling; "it is really more yours than mine. Inside you will find your money, which brought such good lack. Now tell me how I can repay your great and unmerited kindness?"