Earl, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder.
"And I do know that you can put a bullet
through a shifting weathercock at five hundred
yards."

"A mere trick!"

"Not so. Skill is no more to be confounded
with trickery than pocket-picking with legerdemain.
I am of Miss Hatherton's opinion, and
am certain you could have beaten us all round
if you had chosen to take the trouble."

"You will find out your mistake presently,
when you have all left me in the rear," said
Saxon, a little impatiently; "I would recommend
no one to bet upon me."

"/ mean to bet upon you, Mr. Trefalden,"
said Miss Hatherton.

"Pray don't; you will be sure to lose your
money."

"I don't believe it; or if I do, I shall call
upon you to pay my debts, for I shall be certain
you have lagged behind on purpose."

At this moment one or two of the others
came up, and the conversation turned upon the
preceding contests.

"Mr. Trefalden," said Miss Colonna, "will
you be kind enough to tell me how many times
you have to make the circuit of the ground, in
this one-mile race?"

Miss Colonna's chair stood next to Miss
Hatherton's, but was placed about half a foot in
advance, by right of her prerogative. As she
turned to address him, Saxon dropped out of
the heiress's coterie, and, moving round by the
back of her chair, replied:

"Exactly six times, mademoiselle."

"Will you come round to this side,
Mr. Trefalden?" said Olimpia, in a low tone; "I have
something to say to you."

Not without some vague sense of surprise, the
young man passed on behind the second chair, and
presented himself at Miss Colonna's left hand.

"You are really going to contest this
one-mile race, are you not?" she asked.

"I have entered my name with the rest,"
replied Saxon.

"Then you mean, of course, to win if you
can?"

Saxon looked embarrassed.

"I have entered my name," he said, "but I
am not sure that I shall run, for all that.
Somebody must act as judge; and I prefer not
to race if I can help it."

"But I particularly prefer that you should
race, Mr. Trefalden," said Olimpia, dropping
her voice to a still lower key; "I want you to
win me that purse of twenty guineas for my
dear Italy."

"It will be yours, and Italy's, mademoiselle,
whoever wins it."

"I know that, Mr. Trefalden."

"Then what difference can it make whether
I, or another, carry off the prize?" said Saxon,
wonderingly.

"It does make a difference," replied Olimpia,
lifting her eyes suddenly to his.

Saxon felt fluttered, without knowing why.

"What difference?" faltered he.

"Must I tell you?"

"If—if you please."

"Will you promise to win for me, if I do tell
you?"

"I don't know—I will try."

"I ask no more than that. If you really try,
I am confident of victory. Well then, I want
you to win because—I suppose, because I am
a woman; and all women are capricious."

Saxon looked puzzled.

"I don't think you are capricious," he said.

"Do you not? Then I am afraid that is
because you are a man; and all men are vain.
There is a pair of maxims for you."

"Maxims for which I can discover no
application," replied Saxon, laughingly. "Why
should I be accused of vanity because I refuse
to believe that Mademoiselle Colonna is guilty
of caprice?"

"I am afraid you are very dull to-day, Mr.
Trefalden,—or very subtle."

"I know I am not subtle," said Saxon; "but
I must be dreadfully dull."

"If your feet do not outstrip your
apprehension, you will scarcely win the cup. What
bell is that?"

"It's the signal for assembling," replied
Saxon; "I must go now; and you have not
told me, after all."

"But you have promised me that you will
try."

"No, no—my promise was conditional on
your explanation."

"But have I not told you that women are
capricious?"

"What of that?"

"We sometimes value a cowslip from one
hand more than a rose from another; and—
and perhaps I am so capricious as to prefer the
Italian prize from yours. Hark! there is the
second bell! Now, go; and bring me back the
purse."

The tone in which this was said—the gesture,
half persuasive, half imperious—the dazzling
smile by which it was accompanied, were more
than enough to turn an older head than Saxon
Trefalden's. He stammered something, he
scarcely knew what; and his heart leaped, he
scarcely knew why.

"If you do not go at once," said Miss
Colonna, "you will be too late. Shall I give
you my glove for a favour? Be a true knight,
and deserve it."

Breathless, intoxicated, the young man pressed
the glove furtively to his lips, thrust it into his
bosom, leaped down upon the course, and flew
to take his place among the runners. He felt
as if his feet were clad in the winged sandals of
Hermes; as if his head touched the clouds, and
the very air were sunshine. It was delightful,
this sense of exaltation and rapture—and
quite new.

Not so, however, felt Olimpia Colonna.
Saxon had no sooner leaped from the platform,
than the colour died out suddenly from her face,
and the smile from her lips. She leaned back
in her chair with a look of intense pain and