"They keep their places," said the Squire, "but I fancy the Saint is drawing up a trifle."
Warren Courtly was very pale, and his hand shook as he held his glasses. Irene glanced at him, and thought—
"Much depends on this race, or he would not be like that." She turned to Ulick, who stood at her side, and said, "You take it coolly, are you confident of winning?"
"Yes, I think he will win; I know Ben is riding a splendid race, and saving him for the finish up the rise. That is where it tells."
"I do hope he will win, Ulick," she said.
He looked into her eyes and read more than he dared hope for.
Coralie had run well, but now they were racing in deadly earnest.
Vulture wrested the lead from her, and his giant stride told its tale. He shot out like a greyhound, and a great shout greeted the favourite's move. Avenger was close on his heels, and Ben was gradually creeping up with the Saint.
They were in the hollow now, in full view of the crowded stands, and the battle was watched with the greatest interest.
Not more than five lengths between the six horses—a sight seldom seen in such a race. Decoy Duck and Mermaid were in the rear.