224 ^ Lucky Mistake 



ever, carried his green jacket in advance ; but before they 

 had gone two hundred yards something in blue and white 

 hoops went to the front and came along with just a bit 

 the best of its boy; Hermitage four or five lengths 

 behind, Eoquelaure at his quarters. Maid of the 

 Mist, fighting for her head, was a couple of lengths 

 from Cranleigh's horse, St. Christopher not far off; 

 then a ruck, with Figtree conspicuous in the rear ; she 

 would not gallop to-day, even at the beginning of the 

 race. 



' Coming a deuce of a pace, aren't they ? ' Cranleigh 

 said, his glasses following the field ; but Ashdown could 

 not answer. He felt the thumps of his heart, almost 

 heard them ; a casual movement of Leighton's elbow 

 sent a tremor through him — he thought Eoquelaure was 

 beaten, half a mile from home as they w^ere, and that the 

 jockey had already begun to ride ; but his better judgment 

 at once negatived the suggestion, and told him that 

 Hermitage, going at full stretch, could have no chance, 

 for Eoquelaure strode along close up to him, with his 

 head in his chest, and the leader in the hoops was 

 already done with — she was now head and head with 

 Hermitage, now half a length behind, and so passed out 

 of the race. On they came. Maid of the Mist, her 

 jockey in vivid red, well up with the leaders, St. 

 Christopher, too, improving his position. ' The favourite 

 wins ! ' is the cry, as her head reaches Eoquelaure's 

 girths. Hermitage dropping back, not because he is 

 going any slower, but because the pace has improved. 

 ' The favourite wins ! ' her backers cry. * Wins ! She's 

 beaten now,' is the counter shout. ' Look there ! St. 

 Christopher walks in ! ' is the answer from one of his 

 supporters, and there seemed reason, for the favourite's 



