TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



should live to be a roarer !' she panted out, yet smiling in her 

 agony. 



Joe sat on the bed and held her till the convulsion was passed. 



' Remember, Joe,- Jim Fellowes owes -me a pony I won on the 

 Beauty Stakes. Never you trust " Scrutator's" tips. Lady Eleanor 

 came in two lengths ahead. It's always safe to back the Dul- 

 lerton stables. They never turned out screws in my time — my 

 time, O Lord ! my time is over ! Put your money on Trumpeter 

 for the Derby. I see him go at the Chesterfield, and Jess knows 

 a thing or two. Lift me — up, Joe ; I'm broken-winded now. The 

 ground has been too heavy for a badly broken half-bred.' 



With quivering lips and haggard eyes she smiled up at him 

 as, with rough tenderness, he wiped the damp from her brow. 

 The doctor slipped in quietly again. He poured out a draught 

 he had brought with him, and brought it close to her lips. She 

 shook her head, and a flicker of cynical contempt passed over 

 her face. 



' No drugs, thank you. I never shirked a settling-day yet. 

 The book is made, and I'm no welsher to the pain. Joe — last 

 night I thought — that I should end my days in harness — work- 

 ing for — other people. Joe, I am glad it is not to be. Brother, 

 I can't see ! Carry me to the window.' 



The doctor and the jockey between them lift her up and sup- 

 port her in a chair close to the open window. The air revives 

 her for a moment, and the light of the sinking sun flashes a rem- 

 nant of life into her glazing eyes. She — looking towards the 

 Heath, where the roof of the Grand Stand is visible in the illu- 

 mination — smiles with the smile of one who is victorious. 'With 

 a supreme effort she stands up, stretching out her arms, and 

 speaking with her old voice of clear decision, 



' Rupert, Rupert, hear me ! It was Jess that did it*. Badly 

 trained, Joe — badly trained. Lead me out of temptation, O God !' 

 With a smile still on her lips, and the glory of triumph in her 

 eyes, she sinks back — dead. 



It is late on the evening of the same day. Rupert Ellis sits 

 alone in his private sitting-room at the hotel, with his betting- 

 book in his hands. A pleased smile is perceptible on his hand- 

 some face. 



* Mr. Dallas to see you, sir.' 



Without any word of preparation the waiter ushers in the 

 well-known jockey, whom it is customary to treat with a certain 



