THE

THROUGH THE DARK NIGHT.

or,

THIRTY YEARS AGO.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE RACE DAY.

THE next ten days passed quickly. Mrs Taylor and Ethna were busy with the mysteries of their toilets. The Madam wrote a few lines occasionally, but had no news. She heard Philip Moore had been away and had returned again; but he had not come to see her, and all the Moores were going to the ball.

This intelligence put Ethna into the best possible spirits. She would meet Philip there-and who knows? Mr. Talbot was very attentive to her. Vincent was in and out at all hours of the day and night, and all went merry as marriage bells. The two attorneys had several solemn conversations, but they decided to say nothing of their matrimonial project until the race was a thing of the past.

The momentous day arrived; from the early dawn the town was full of life and evident expectation; small boys were in a state of wildest excitement, and did not think anybody would overtake anything; all things progressed with such unnatural and irritating slowness.

As the day advanced, a stream of people flowed out towards the race-course; men with tables on their shoulders, preparing to tempt the unwary countryman into the costly mazes of "trick-of the-loop; " cars with prostrate tents; women with baskets of cakes and fruit; jarvey cars dashed recklessly about, seeking and carrying fares; soon came the stirring notes of a horn; a four-in-hand woke the echoes of the town, scattering the foot-passengers to right and left; and gradually carriage after carriage drove by, containing what the local papers called "the rank and fashion of the country."

In one of them Ethna was seated with Mrs. Taylor beside her, the two attorneys opposite, and Mr. Taylor's eldest son, a bright

little fellow of four, sat beside the coachman and goaded that grave personage into conversational activity. The day was lovely, with the shadow and shine of soft September. As they whirled along the hard, dry roads, the cows in the wayside meadows lifted their calm eyes in quiet surprise at the unwonted commotion; young colts reared their heads, erected their tails, and galloped wildly around the fields; dogs rushed out of the little cabins barking furiously; little children, too young to feel any sporting impulses, stood transfixed with wonder; and sun-browned women, whose hard lives had stolen the softness from face and figure, gazed at their sisters whose lives had fallen in pleasanter places, whose fair complexions were protected by lace-covered parasols; who were clothed in silk and velvet, and who had the agreeable consciousness that luncheon was not a thing dependent upon chance, but a certainty that one might rest upon. There was the usual lock at the custom gap, out of which maelstrom vehicle after vehicle was extricated, and passed with an occasional jolt into the green field, wheeling into line along the course. Mr. Taylor with the assistance of some of the stewards, got excellently placed near the winning post, where they had a good view of almost all the jumps. The horses were taken from the carriage, and all was settled.

From an early hour that morning Vincent Talbot had been astir. Daisypicker looked like a picture, and the boy sat to his breakfast in too irrepressible a state of mind to be damped by fears of parental displeasure. Mr. Talbot spoke of the day he was going to waste in a tone of mingled patience and resignation. He made comments on the horses, and then diverged from them to their respective owners, whom he spoke of with that pity akin to contempt a hard-working, prosperous man naturally feels for those who trust their fortunes to the capricious issues of chance or accident.

"As for that unfortunate Morony," said Mr. Talbot, "I have not common patience with him. That horse has brought him to the verge of ruin, and I'm told he has sold his last cow to try her this time. He will owe a year's rent in November. If the mare comes to grief, so will he. I'm sorry for the poor fool. He was an honest fellow until this racing played the deuce with him." "They say she is in great form," answered Vincent, "and Cecil Morris is coming to ride her."

"How did he get Morris ?" asked the father.

"His only

chance is to have her well ridden."

"Morris was staying at O'Grady's last spring," replied Vincent. "He is no end of a fellow to ride. Morony is lucky to get him. Lady Clare has no bad chance, I think. Might make a good second to Daisypicker."

"Well, I wish she were first. Martin can afford better to lose a race. I pity the poor devil, though he does not deserve it. But 'tis neck or nothing with him. Out he will have to go. The land could not be left to him for nothing, because he chose to go on with this absurd speculation; and his landlord was not hard on him either. Racing, indeed, I never saw anyone make a decent living by it; 'tis just throwing money into the river; they'll count the gain, but they never count the loss, and beside the loss of money there is the loss of time, brains, and honour. A set of blacklegs."

Mr. Talbot stood up from the table.

"I shall step over to Taylor's," he said, "to see what hour they will start; 'tis ten now. I suppose not until half-past twelve. I can get over a bit of business in the meantime. I suppose 'tis useless to expect you'll turn your thoughts to anything. I wish you had more sense."

"If you keep Ethna waiting, she will be in an awful way," answered Vincent.

"There is no fear I'll keep her waiting," said the father. "I'm not like some of the young men of the present day, who think themselves too fine fellows to be polite to women, and I have too much regard for her mother's child to spoil the girl's day. Ethna is a good girl-a very good girl."

"Take care, father, don't get inside me. I'll be jealous," answered Vincent, laughing, as he left the room.

"Have sense, boy, have sense," said the old gentleman, with a repressed smile, as he walked out.

Vincent, taking three steps at a time, dashed up stairs to his

room.

A pair of top-boots underwent rigid scrutiny; they had cost him considerable anxiety; for it was only a few minutes ago they arrived. He packed his bag; his blue silk jacket and cap were of the loveliest shade and perfectly suited to his fair complexion. He crushed everything in with a manly disregard to creases, and ran down stairs again, hailed a passing car, tossed the bag into the well, and was whirled away to the course as fast as a fired and spavined animal could bring him.

CHAPTER XVII.

VINCENT WILL NOT RIDE DAISYPICKER.

Daisy picker was in an outhouse belonging to one of the farmers near the course. She whinnied when she felt Vincent's caressing touch on her soft muzzle. He intended to dress himself here and keep very much in the background until after the start, lest he might attract unpleasant notice from his father.

There were many loiterers about with faces full of interest; for Daisypicker was known to be one of those backed to win.

Vincent was coming out, after seeing that the groom had everything as it ought to be, and had only got out of the yard when he met a pale, elderly countryman with a most sorrowful countenance.

"Oh, Morony, is this you?" said Vincent. Why, man, you look down in the mouth; anything the matter with Lady Clare ? "

"Nothing, Mr. Vincent. She's better than ever she was; but the misfortune is down on top of me. I have no one to ride her." "What," said Vincent, "is it possible Morris disappointed you ?"

"He couldn't help it, sir. Read that."

The man handed Vincent a letter. Morris had been thrown from his horse and was laid up in bed.

"I only got it this morning," said Morony, "and you see it was posted two days ago. I'm a ruined man, Mr. Vincent, I'm a ruined man."

"Ah! nonsense, man, someone will turn up that will ride her. Did you look for anyone?"

"I did, sir, and there isn't one to do it. Not one that knows how. Johnny Lynch itself isn't to be had, an' sure 'tisn't everyone that can handle her at all, for she has the temper in her. She would have won in Belmullet, everyone said, if she was rightly ridden. Oh! God help me, my last stake is gone."

66

"I needn't tell you I would ride her and welcome," said Vincent only for Daisy picker."

"I know that, Mr. Vincent, you're ready an' willin' to do the good turn, you needn't tell me; oh! great heavens, if you rode

her for me," the man continued, in a despairing voice, "you'd save myself and my little family from beggary. My last cow is gone Biddy,' says I to herself, it may as well go along with the rest, an' who knows but it would bring back the whole of 'em?' An' now, an' now." His voice choked, and he turned away.

"I wish to God I could help you," said Vincent, fully realising the man's critical position,

"You are the only one that could help me," answered Morony, "the only one. Oh! Mr. Vincent, what is a race to you? 'Twon't take the bit or sup out of your mouth, or the roof from over your head. If you rode for me".

"Why, man, you wouldn't expect me to give up my own horse or at least a horse partly my own," exclaimed Vincent.

"Shure that's true," said Morony, hopelessly, "no one would do it; but despair and trouble has me a'most out of my mind; oh! glory be to God, how'll I face back to night? I haven't the second feed of oats to give her when I take her home, an' more than that, the second meal to give the childer."

"If Daisy picker were all my own, I'd withdraw her," said Vincent; but Mr. Martin won't do it; he is sure of her winning and has her heavily backed."

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May God bless you, sir. You'd stand to me if you could. But if you or Mr. Morris were on Lady Clare, Mr. Vincent, she'd give Daisy picker enough of it; she never was so fit, Oh, Lord! to think of it. An' what harm, only for Biddy and the childher?

"Who on earth could you get?" said Vincent, running all his sporting acquaintances through his brain in a vain attempt to discover some suitable jockey. "Mr. Creagh or Fielding would do it, but they are overweight, and Castlewood is away. If we only knew it yesterday!

"There is no one to be got," answered Morony: "'tis too late. I may as well face home with her. Sure, I suppose 'tis the will of God to punish me. I deserve it all, an' more. But what will Biddy an' the childher do? God send you luck, at any rate, sir. May you never see such a miserable day as this is to me." "Look here, Morony," said Vincent, after a pause, what you said. A race here or there isn't much to me. it to the mischief, and ride Lady Clare for you. But here comes Martin, and there will be the devil to pay. Hello! Martin. This way. There is a change in the programme, old fellow : I'm

"'tis true

I'il pitch