“He is destroying my mind, I believe,� Blair replied gloomily enough.
“Darling,� said Elizabeth after a pause, and putting her hands on Blair’s broad shoulders as he stood over her, “do you want to see me well, and fresh, and rosy once more?�
“God knows I do,� responded Blair with energy.
“Then—then—make me a promise.�
“Oh, I know what you mean,� cried Blair with nervous impatience. “You mean to ask me to cringe to Skelton, and to abandon this match on some subterfuge or other, and manage it so that all bets will be declared off.� In a moment he added: “Forgive me, Elizabeth, but a harassed man is not responsible for every word he says.�
Elizabeth had not opened her mouth, but her look was enough to bring an immediate apology.
“What I do want—what would make me well—what would make me happy—is that you will promise me, after this, to give up racing. I have never asked this of you before, because I have not fully realised the terrible hold it had on you. But I tell you, in sober seriousness, that, beyond what you will bring upon yourself and our children, if this continues, I shall not live two years. My body is still strong, but my heart and my soul are both sick—sick—and I know that I could die of grief, and chagrin, and shame, and disappointment as readily as if I had been poisoned. I have struggled ever since you began this thing years ago, but lately I have yielded to despair. Now you can kill me or you can save my life.�
Blair walked about the room with an agonised look on his fine, sunburned, expressive face. He believed every word that Elizabeth uttered. Presently he came up to her and cried:
“Elizabeth, will you promise to live and be happy if I promise you never to start another horse in a race after this one—never to back another horse?�
“Yes, I will give you my promise if you will give me yours.�