Keep her secret? Yes, that he would; but how long? But would she keep it herself? Had she not already revealed it to him whom she believed forever lost to her?
Afar off in her rosy bower that breezy morn Gwendoline thought of him, and her cheek grew paler at the idea that he might have discovered her. No word or look, as yet, had betrayed her passionate love for him. The color rushed over throat and brow, as she thought of what she had braved for him. To give to the husband of another her heart’s best treasure was terrible in itself; and hide it in her bosom as she would, she failed to still those wailings, which had he heard them would horrify him. And then to know her as she was, unsexed before his very eyes, that, that would be the finishing stroke. That she thought in her despair would deal her a death-blow.
So thought Gwendoline. She murmured a prayer of thankfulness, and blessed the brawny blacksmith, the friend of her childhood, who, she believed, had saved her from this disgrace.
In the meantime, while these two hearts were torn with such contending emotions, the men at the clubs were discussing the race and its excitement. The wonderful pluck and bravery of the young jockey were touched upon, his grace and good riding praised, but the culminating incident of the encounter between Emory and Clayton was the principal theme of conversation.
Would he resent the blow? Could he easily forget so ignoble a fall in the dust, before a throng of men and women? Had he any excuse to plead for such coarse and ungentlemanly conduct?
Many and varied were the comments around the card tables, in the reading-rooms and over the billiard cues. During four or five days following the race, little else was talked of, friends on both sides being anxious to arrange matters amicably.
“Don’t trouble yourselves, my dear fellows!” said Emory on the third evening, as he made his first appearance among them since the race. “I think Mr. Clayton and I perfectly understand each other. I sent him a letter this morning, which will be answered from——New York!”
A smile went around the company.
“Oh! pray don’t think for a moment that I am speaking derogatorily of the gentleman in question, for I assure you I intend nothing of the kind. On the contrary, I highly appreciate his many and untold perfections. Still, I think it altogether unnecessary that you feel further anxiety on this subject. It has quite settled itself—quite. Thanks, all the same.” And, taking his hat from the rack, Neil bowed politely and left the club.
“Well!” exclaimed one, “so there won’t be any duel, after all!”