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Chapter I

" NERVOUS, my dear boy, not a bit of it — not the least in the world," said handsome Stephen Beauclerk to a man who was standing beside him in the Paddock at Goodwood about ten minutes before the race for the Gold Cup was to be run. " Haven't we both said a hundred times that there was nothing to be afraid of but Kildare, that there wasn't another horse in the race worth mentioning if he was out of the way. The race for the Gold Cup at Goodwood had resolved itself weeks ago into a match between the two cracks, and now that they have scratched Kildare what is thereto stand up to Laodicean? Why! we shall hardly have a run for our money, and I B shall be very much surprised if he doesn't canter in a dozen yards ahead of the rest of the field. It's almost a pity that the win will be such a tame one."

" You may thank your stars, Stephen, or whoever you are accustomed to thank when you pull off a good thing, that the race is as good as over," said his companion, a good looking young man of a ruddy and cheerful countenance, who was known to all the world as Kit Upperton. "You have gone for the gloves this time and no mistake, and when a man has everything he has got in the world trembling in the balance it is a decided advantage to him if he knows that the chances are a hundred to one in his favour. If Kildare had been running I would not have been in your shoes for a good deal." " If Kildare had been running," said Stephen Beauclerk excitedly, " I would still have backed Laodicean for my shirt. Indeed, I did so two months ago as you know very well, and I half wish he had a foeman worthy of his steel to show what he is capable of to-day.

But you are always so cautious, Kit — cautious and prudent." " I don't think my old Governor or our family lawyer would agree with you," said Kit Upperton, laughing ; " at least, I can't remember the time when they didn't urge me to be careful, and, from the overdrawn condi tion of my banking account, I don't believe thev are so far wrong. However, from your point of view, perhaps, I am over cautious, for I have never played for all I was worth as you are doing now. It ought to be the last time, Steve." " It will be the last time," answered the other. " By this time to-morrow I shall be in a position to pay my creditors in full, if I have any wish to oblige them so far. I will be able to settle with the boys — that I suppose had better be done — and I shall have quite a respectable sum of money over to invest in bank shares if I like.

I really mean to do all this, not from any over-strained B feelings of prudence or honesty, but simply because the life of worry I am leading is killing me, and I can't stand it much longer. If, on the other hand— though what's the good of thinking of the impossible — still, if Laodicean does not win the Cup — ha ! ha ! — why, then, by this time to-morrow I shall be where bookies and betting men, duns and creditors, can trouble me no more." The two men who uttered these disjointed sentences were standing just outside the circle already formed in the Paddock to see the march past of the runners for the Gold Cup. The well-dressed crowd seemed full of eager expectation, though more than half of those who so waited were quite incapable of forming any judgment whatever on horse flesh, knew little or nothing about the points of a race-horse, and hardly could tell the colours of one owner from another.

But it was the fashion to hurry to the Paddock before any of the more important races, " to have a look at the horses," and those who would die rather than be out of the movement were all there. It was ideal weather — a splendid July day, with the heat of the blazing sun tempered by a light breeze that had wandered up from the Solent over hay-fields, and corn-rigs, and across cottage gardens filled with sweetsmelling flowers, and that seemed to bring ozone and a memory of blue waters in its breath. No wonder that there were more people at Goodwood than had ever been seen — even on a Cup day — before. No wonder, too, that all had come dressed in their bravest and best, and that the show of pretty frocks on the lawn had quite beaten the record. Here in the Paddock the clothes were wonderful ; white satin swept the turf, and costly lace was trodden underfoot.

Muslins that would have looked transparent in a ballroom were worn by some of the girls, and pretty young heads and plain old ones were decked in hats heavy with roses and brilliant blos soms and nodding plumes, or uncovered save for an inch of lace and perhaps a jewelled butterfly that called itself a bonnet. There were a few anxious faces even among the women, and a deeper shadow on some brows than was thrown by those wide-brimmed and flower-wreathed erections, while the smile on a few beauteous lips was contradicted by the anxiety that shone in eager eyes. The betting book that a lovely duchess held in her ungloved hand trembled just a little as she talked earnestly to a man dressed in the peculiarly tight-fitting clothes affected by those connected with a racing stable. Another duchess, of rubicund countenance and generous outlines, was the centre of a group of very young men who were giving her information that made the purple orchids on her light green bonnet sway on their velvet stalks as if they were shaken by the wind.

A tall woman in black, with an amazingly beautiful face, stood in utter silence at the side of a good-looking man into whose face she sometimes quickly glanced, but neither by word or sign did she make her presence felt. A pair of pretty girls in white frocks and blue sashes, with a perfect train of well-dressed followers in their wake, arrived on the scene and fluttered about in a distracting fashion, their merry talk and peals of laughter jarring on the nerves of a good many who had too much at stake to feel at all light-hearted. But those who came for business, and those who came to wile away an idle half hour, all formed part of the double circle that bordered the narrow way kept clear with so much difficulty for the horses. Then one by one the racers came out, and then every one began to talk at once, and to make some remark, wise or foolish, about the beautiful thoroughbred creatures whose coats shone like satin, and who paced as proudly as if they understood their own importance thoroughly.

" That's Laodicean." " No ! it's not." " Looks fit to run for his life." " Too ready with his heels." " Here comes Spartan." "Good horse that." "Over trained." " Not fit." " Sweating like a bull." " I like French grey and cerise." " What a dear little boy in brown and yellow ! " "I say, Miss Mabel, I'll bet you a pair of gloves," etc., etc., etc. These remarks were a fair sample of the kind of talk that went on while the horses went round and round, one or two of them making the human wall that hemmed them in fall back a little here and there, by showing a passing disposition to lash out, and to see how much ground a pair of ready heels would be able to clear. The man whose fortunes Laodicean carried on his, if anything rather weak, shoulders, stood with his friend just outside the crowd. They were both tall men, and could see as much as they wanted over other people's heads, and Stephen Beauclerk at any rate was not in a mood to make Society talk and be lavish of stereotyped smiles at the present moment.

All the looking in the world could not have told him more about Laodicean than he already knew. It was acknowledged on all hands that he was about the best bred, and certainly one of the best-looking horses in England, and even if Beauclerk had seen his ears laid back almost on a level with his head, and had noticed the vicious hoist that the boy on his back stopped just in time, it would have been no surprise to him, for did not he and all the world know that every colt with Crusader blood in his veins was bound to have a bit of temper ? Round and round went the aristocrats of the racing stable, and then a bell rang, the magic circle fell to pieces at once, and the crowd of well-dressed men and women rushed to the turnstile, elbowing each other in their haste, as if they were Bank-holiday trippers enjoying a rare outing, and not members of that class to whom every day is more or less of a holiday.

They all ran, for there was no time to lose if they meant to snatch from their neighbours A Si/i of the Soul. 10 the best position, and the most desirable view of the course ; to get close to the rails on the lawn, or to mount on a bench on the terrace under the beeches, or to perch on the box seat or the roof of one of the many coaches standing in line just beyond the enclosure, or to climb the long and steep flight of stairs leading to the top of the Stand, from which the best view of all could be obtained. Stephen Beauclerk and Kit Upperton were among the last to leave the Paddock. They did not care to join the crowd, or to race through the turnstile in the company of their many acquaintances, who would all insist on talking to them, and they knew their chances were good of making their way to some " coign of vantage," for their broad shoulders would take them through any throng, and their six feet of height would always help them to see over the heads of their fellows.

"To the top of the Stand, Kit," said Beauclerk, as they left the Paddock ; " there won't be a soul up there, and we will see the race in peace." "Not a soul" meant in his mouth the absence of those of his own set, otherwise the expression would hardly have been appropriate, for people clustered on the roof like bees ; but there were no well-known faces to be recognised, and no eyes, kindly or the reverse, to watch him at this supreme moment of his life. As he elbowed his way right to the front the people he pushed to right and left did not appear to resent his cavalier treatment of them. They had been elbowing other people all the morning, and it seemed to them all in the day's work to be shoved out of the way in their turn. It was a fairly good-natured crowd, and the hum of their voices all but drowned the roar of the ring men, who were yelling themselves hoarse below as they offered " ten to one bar one " to all who wished to speculate.

" Gawd's truth," said a rough-looking man to his mate as Beauclerk passed them, " if that bar one don't pull it off I shall — " but his plans for the future were of the utmost indifference to Stephen, even though their interests for the moment were identical. He half shoved him out of the way, paid not the faintest attention to an angry oath or two, and got right to the front of the stand, followed by Kit. If he had had eyes for anything beyond a big brown horse going sideways down the course, with a jockey on his back in black and white (black body and white sleeves), he would have seen a wide and extensive view of rolling downs, and great woods, against a blue and hazy distance that anyone must have admired. But the beauties of nature were as nothing to him in his calmest moments, and his present mood was certainly not a contemplative one.

He was confident, he said, there was nothing to be afraid of, he had told Upperton that the race was as good as run ; but his whole fortune, nay, life itself, hung on the balance, and even the one chance in a hundred against him was not to ■3 be entirely ignored. Kit Upperton, almost as excited as himself, made no attempt at conversation, and the two men stood side by side in silence as the horses came on the course one by one, as a preliminary canter or so was taken by each, and, finally, as the ground was cleared by the yellow-coated whips of Lord March's hounds, who, mounted on strong, useful hunters warranted not to kick, backed on the crowd till the railings were reached, scattered old women who sold pencils and unripe plums, and young women who told fortunes and lies, and men who had blackened their faces and played the banjo, and gaping Sussex yokels, and stray dogs, and all the flotsam and jetsam that surge back on a racecourse between the different races.

It is clear now ; the horses are gone to the starting point at the top of the rising ground, beyond the corner where the course makes rather a sharp turn. It is a long way off, and even through the strongest glasses the horses and their riders look as if they were painted in miniature. But it is not too far away not to be able to see that the thin line across the course is broken half-a-dozen times — there are six false starts, and then Lord Marcus gets them off, the flag falls, the horn is sounded, and just for the first minute it seems to eager eyes as if the whole field might be covered with a pocket handkerchief. Only for a minute, however, and then two out of the eight forge to the front. Need we say that black body and white sleeves leads, and that light blue and pink hoops is a few yards behind ?

They are very close, however, so close that, coming down the slope it really looks for a moment as if the horses were quite even ; but in the glaring, blinding sunshine, and with glasses that shake in a trembling hand, it is hard to judge, and the big brown horse is — must be leading, while the dark chestnut on the far side is at least half a length behind him in reality. It is only because one is looking right down on them that they actually seem as if they were galloping side by side. Laodicean is certainly not running kindly, but it would be madness to think he could not beat that great raw-boned chestnut, who, after all, is little more than a hunter — he will come at the last moment — the boy knows what he is about. Oh ! it is all right ; and, after all, there has been some excitement.

Beauclerk has got what he wished for ; anything is better than a hollow victory. But what's this? The chestnut is creeping up, has crept up, has indeed answered to his rider's call on him, and is now going neck and neck with the favourite, who is evidently not trying a yard. But he will, he must win still. Laodicean can't be beaten, the thing is impossible ; and yet, another second of time, and the chestnut shoots to the front, Laodicean seems as if he was standing still, and then a hoarse shout of triumph rises from the Ring as a rank outsider wins the Goodwood Gold Cup by half a length. The composure of Ouida's guardsmen under adverse circumstances has become a proverb, but, exaggerated though it may be, there is an under-current of truth in it after all, " Race " tells, and if good blood has no other advantage, as some assert, it has at least the negative merit of giving to those in whose veins it runs the will and the power to hide their troubles from the curious and indifferent eyes of a world that is never over kind to those who are down.

The fact that Laodicean had a shifty, un certain temper which had been tried by half-a dozen false starts, had made a beggar of Stephen Beauclerk, but for all that he did not whine, nor cry out ; he did not even turn to his friend for sympathy. The blood seemed to rush back to his heart, and he turned a shade or two paler in consequence, while his breath came for a moment as if he had been running hard. Perhaps he would have found it difficult to walk away unconcernedly, and it was just as safe not to attempt it for a minute or two. Besides, there was no hurry, nothing more to be done. The crowd thinned at once, and with noise and laughter and loud talking, pressed its way down the steep flight of stairs ; he would wait till the mob had gone, he would not fight his way through them a second time.

There was a girl standing near him who seemed in no hurry to go either. She was in the company of a young man who had thought fit to hold her hand while the race had been run, and did not seem inclined to let it go now that it was over. Beauclerk heard her ask her companion with a giggle if he knew the name of the winning horse, but he was unable to tell her. Stephen wondered vaguely how anyone could be so ignorant. Surely all the world must know that Laodicean had been beaten, there were the numbers going up ; number four, that was the number of the outsider that had snatched the victory ; number two, that was the favourite ; and then five . C He had no need to look at the numbers, but his eyes seemed bound to turn to them as if to make assurance doubly sure, and when he saw them, then he knew his fate was sealed.

" Come along, Kit, what's the good of waiting here now," he said ; and without an uttered word of complaint from the one, or sympathy from the other, the two men followed the crowd down the iron steps. As they left the Stand, the shabby man, who had evidently backed the horse that the book makers had barred so decidedly, touched his shabby hat as they passed. He had no doubt had his eye on Stephen, and some instinct told him that the swell had been hard hit. There was just an outside chance that he might extract something from a fellow sufferer ; at any rate, he would try. " Beg your pardon, Captain," he said, jerking his hand up to his forehead in the fashion that stands for a stable salute, " it seems as if we was in the same boat this time, my lord ; well, better luck to both of us the next day A Sm of the Soul. 19 we goes racing, that's what I says, and if your lordship would give me the loan of a shilling or two to drink your health with and get off the course, why you would be none the poorer, and who knows but I might do you a good turn one of these days."

" Go to the devil," said Stephen roughly. He was not given to helping people, it was not his way, he never saw the good of it, and the present moment was not one when he was likely to break his hard and fast rule. Besides, though he might force himself to take his beating like a man outwardly, he had very little of the milk of human kindness left. Kit Upperton had another sort of disposition altogether, and had he been in Beauclerk's shoes he would still have had some feeling left for others. As it was his hand was in his pocket now. It was a hand that was always ready to go into his pocket when help was asked of him. There is a story, more than twenty years old, of the biggest plunger of his day — a noble Mar quis, who once lost over a single race. C A Si/i of the Soul. 20 As he came out of the Stand from which he had witnessed what was practically his own utter ruin, he was button-holed by one of his acquaintances, a lady of a certain age, who, shaking her grey curls at him and ignorant of all that the result of that day's sport meant for him, handed him her betting book and begged him to find out how she stood.

With a chivalrous courtesy and gentleness worthy of a better occasion he took the book out of her hand, and did not leave her until he had found out the number of pounds — very few of them — that she was either to the bad or good. It was a mere trifle, but was at least something to set against the recklessness, folly, and mad extravagance, that were his own ruin. Beauclerk would never have been capable of such an act of courtesy, and if the shabby man had fallen down dead before his eyes, he would hardly have turned hisheadashe walked across the space in front of the Stand. " Good-bye, Kit, in the meantime," he said as he came to the gateway that leads out of the enclosure. " I must go my own way now — and you will go yours." The words were spoken in the quietest tone — he had pulled himself together, and except that the colour seemed to have left his face permanently, he looked much the same as usual to the outside world that has neither time nor inclination to see beneath the surface — but Kit was not one of those super ficial observers, and he could read in the expression of those handsome blue eyes something that looked very like desperation.

Whether Stephen liked it or not, he did not mean him to get away alone. " Nonsense, Steve," he said, in as uncon cerned tones as he could manage to assume ; " our paths must lie together as far as old Douglas's luncheon table at any rate. There it is, in that snug corner between that big tree and the paling — he made me and all my friends free of it for the meeting ; come along and we will have some champagne there at any rate." To his surprise Stephen did not refuse him ; perhaps he thought it would give him some strength to keep the next appointment he had set himself, so they threaded their way among the numerous tables set up and spread by hospitable hands under the stately beeches that threw their long shadows on the terrace walk. The whole world had lunched under their shade more than an hour ago.

Tea time had not yet come round, and they were alone amongst all the deserted encampments with the exception of two or three pairs of men and women who made love in whispers while they pretended to eat peaches and grapes, and o fone or two confirmed " tasters," who preferred drinking anything out of a bottle to looking either at the racing or at the best company that even England can gather together. But neither those who loved nor those who drank champagne paid them any attention, and with their backs to the high oak palisade they could talk freely. " No use to tell you I am sorry for you, Steve," said Kit Upperton, gruffly ; the spoken sympathy of an Englishman is gene rally delivered in a very deep voice, "you know it quite well, my dear boy, but talking does no good. I wish to God I could help you out of the hole you are in, but as I can't what's the good of saying so."

" You've done it often enough, old fellow," said Stephen, wearily, " and you told me the last time it could not go on for ever." " I know ! I know ! and I felt a brute when I said so," said Kit growing red, as if he was owning to a grievous sin. " I wouldn't have done it if the dear old Governor hadn't been such a brick, but when he squared me the last time, and said to me, 'I can stand you spending twice the money I allow you every half year, Kit, but you must see for your self that three times the amount is too bad.' I saw for myself I was behaving like a cur, and I swore I would keep within reasonable bounds and knock off all unnecessary >) expenses. "And I was one of the unnecessary expenses you settled to put down," said Stephen, with a harsh laugh, as he let the servant who was looking after them fill his tumbler to the brim with champagne.

" No, no, Kit, I did not mean that ! You've always been the best of pals to me, from the first day we went to Eton down to the present moment, but you cannot support me. I know that quite well ; you can't even get me out of the hole I have run myself into just now. For the last three months I haven't had a penny in the world. I have looked to to-day to put me square, and as far as money is concerned I have gone on anyhow. I have stuck at nothing! I haven't robbed a church or a bank, but I have done pretty nearly everything else ; I have given bogus cheques — my bills have been returned dis honoured — I have reduced my mother and sister to abject misery- — I believe I have even got the better of a Jew money-lender. Why ! only yesterday I drew on my mother for a hundred pounds, though I know the poor woman has not in the world, and won't have for months to come.

I owe for my lodgings, for my clothes, for whist at the Portland, even for the stephanotis that is sent to me twice a day from town. I had to borrow a tenner from your servant this morning, for one can't come to this kind of place without some loose change in one's pocket. Poor devil, his chances of getting it back are somewhat hazy. You see I looked to to-day to end all my troubles, and so it shall, though not in the way I intended. I daresay on the whole it will be quite as effectual." " Don't talk such rot, Steve," said Kit Upperton angrily. " You've had a facer, but you will get over it somehow. Yes ! and live to back a winner yet. Don't let your mind dwell on all this bad business to-day, and we'll see what can be done to-morrow." Beauclerk lifted the tumbler to his lips and drank a deep draught, which brought a little A S/u of the Soul. colour back to his handsome face and some life into his eyes.

For the moment it seemed as if Laodicean had not lost the race by half-a-length, as if he — Stephen Beauclerk — had never done a shady action, and as if there was still some chance that a wasted mis spent life might have a good ending. It was in a lighter tone that he began to talk again. " Out of nothing, nothing can come, Kit, and it resolves itself into this : Have I the pluck to beg, borrow, or steal enough money to take me out to the Colonies — to Melbourne for instance — and see what I can pick up there ? I can pick up nothing worth having, that's certain. I never did a stroke of work in my life. I can't work, and I daresay I wouldn't if I could ; but I could hold horses I suppose, and there must be plenty of them to hold in the Colonies, for so many people seem to do nothing else out there.

Well ! granted that I could get out to the Antipodes, that I had any number of horses to hold, even a certain number of messages to run ; would that be good enough ? Would it not be wiser, a great deal, to make an end of it all at once ? There would be no scandal, only an accidental pistol shot when engaged in cleaning the one that fits into my dressing-bag. Gentlemen as a rule do clean their pistols, don't they ? Ha ! ha ! and some of them seem very careless while they are about it. We have read all about that sort of accident so often in the papers. Tell me Kit, which course would you take yourself?" The tumbler is emptied and refilled. Among his many faults, drinking did not figure in the list, but wine gave him the flip he needed just now. Kit saw there was no danger to be feared to-dav and he breathed again.