When Gwendoline entered her own room, she walked over to where the picture of the stallion hung. Taking it down, she pressed it to her bosom, saying:
“God bless you, my darling! God bless you, my beautiful! You never ran like that before—and may never do so again!”
Then, with Alice’s assistance, she undressed, and, after a refreshing warm bath, wrapped about her a long, cool, white robe and threw herself on a low couch, saying softly over and over, as the pent up tears fell slowly down her cheeks:
“For thee I did it—for thee! Farewell, my beautiful! my beautiful!”
CHAPTER IX.
THE CHINK OF GOLD.
When the carriage containing Gwendoline and her companion had passed the outer gate, Neil Emory started forward like one mad, and hastened towards the highway.
“Where are you going?” said a voice, and a hand was laid on his arm.
“Hail that carriage!” he shouted, without looking round. But it was far beyond the reach of human voice. Then he gazed about him and saw his friend Gray at his elbow.
“I’ve been watching you,” said he, “and I saw you put the boy in the carriage. I dare say he’s all right. Peleg is a pretty good fellow, and he’s well-known on the track. Only a faint, was it? You ought to be glad the buck wasn’t killed. Come!” and he slipped his arm in his friend’s. “I see they’ve caught Cliquot; but the rascal is neighing and plunging worse than ever. I say, Emory!” as they walked on, “he’s brought you in a tremendous pile, but, if you don’t secure the services of that last jockey, you’d better part with the animal!”
Part with Cliquot! The words rang in his ears. Part with him now? Not for ten thousand worlds! Not for ten million jockeys! Had she not ridden him? Thank God! no one but himself knew. No one saw the sweet face of his love beneath the dark hair and scarlet cap. His alone the secret denied even to her. He would hug it, with that other, to his breast, and overpower her in his joy! Soon, ah! how soon might it, could it be?