“Hiogh-dough!” laughed the groom.
The walk became a trot, and soon the soft dust rose as he galloped gently around the track. Again he passed, going a little faster, and then they saw but a flying streak, which, as it neared the turn, came down the quarter stretch like a whirlwind, the beautiful neck straight out and the rider on the horse’s back as firm as a young Indian.
“At last!” sighed Emory, as he folded his arms across his breast. “Now we will give them a race!”
“Yes,” said the voice of the blacksmith at his side, “and such a race as they never saw before!”
“If he wins,” exclaimed Neil, “I’ll give you the finest anvil that’s to be bought, Peleg.”
“Book that,” said the man, “for he’ll win!” and the stallion came in on his home gallop.
The sun was gilding the steeples of the city when Emory rode home. His iron-gray bounded lightly beneath the saddle and came down to a soft, cool walk as his hoofs struck the first stones.
“And if I win,” said the rider to himself, “how shall I be rewarded?”
Did he remember, two years before, when he looked so coldly on Gwendoline Gwinn as she stood beside that lovely dark-haired cousin, who had won, at least, his hand? Did he recall the bright hours of his boyhood, when that tall, lithe, red-haired girl romped at his side and seemed to possess so little claim to the beauty she now showed to the world? Had she, indeed, loved him when he returned home from abroad, and found her so regal a woman? Or, was it only a trap to catch a proud heart and toss it to another? God knows! and, perhaps, the beautiful devil, once his wife—really his wife—could answer. Wealth! Who has not felt its power? Would the year of grace never end? A lie, a living, breathing lie to the outside world! His wife still lived, and he, too, lived on, and link upon link the chains gathered around him. One word and it would be done, one look and it would be over! One embrace, one kiss of the soul’s passion and hell would yawn—yet, with so glorious a heaven, would the depths be as nothing!
And so, in the early morning, he rode, seeking at last the brightness of his chambers to draw down the blinds and pace back and forth like a yellow lion in its cage.