"No, indeed, papa," said the poor girl, with her beautiful eyes full of tears—she was terribly agitated. "I never shall be able to look at Charles as he jumps it: it's fearful to look at, and it has to be done twice too!"
"Never mind, Alice, dear," said Fortescue, "the old horse will carry me over like a bird. The only difficulty in the whole thing is the big wall; that is a rattler! but in your colours, of course, I shall get over all right. Let me do that wall and I am pretty safe, for I know Screwdriver has the foot of Mad Moll; and these colours, too, they must not play second fiddle. Cheer up!" and he whispered something that made the fair girl smile through her tears.
"Now, Fortescue," said George Bradon, taking his friend aside, "let me give you a little advice: this is your maiden effort: whatever you do be cool; don't flurry or worry yourself; you have a knowing fellow to ride against, who is well up to these things. Now the wall is the principal thing, and my opinion is, he will try and baulk your horse there; therefore, my boy, don't let him give you a lead over it, but lead him. That you have the speed of the mare there is not a doubt. Remember, too, you must not go at the wall too fast: keep him well together, with his hind legs well under him, and pop him over. Now, with regard to the brook, on no account give him a lead there; if necessary, walk your horse to it rather than go first. Keep your head, old fellow, and where you dare, make the pace a cracker, if you can do it without pumping your horse; the mare is overtrained, and will not last if she is bustled. I don't know that I can say any more: now, go and sit by your lady fair till it is time to weigh."
The officers had sent their two cricket tents down, the scoring one for the scales, and the other for luncheon. The latter one was filled with gentlemen discussing the merits of the different horses.
"Here comes your nag, Fortescue," said a young sub, running up to the carriage.
"Oh, what a beauty he is!" said Miss Gwynne. "Who is the little fat man leading him?"
"That," said Bradon, who had joined them, "is my old stud-groom, one of the best men in Europe; he says Screwdriver's trained to the hour. Here, Mason, turn the horse round and show him to the lady."
The old man touched his hat as he did so.
"He's a good 'un, miss," he said, "and nothing but a good 'un; and if Mr Fortescue rides him patiently, I think that no Mad Moll will have a chance with him." And touching his hat again he turned and walked the horse away.
The regimental champion was then immediately surrounded by the men of the Stiffshire Regiment.