The Gambler Part 9

For Milbanke there was a moment of horrible suspense, and a succeeding relief that drove all thought of the race and its result far from his mind. Immediately the field was clear he scrambled from his position and hurried to where Clodagh was soothing the still frightened Polly.

"Miss Clodagh," he began, "I am so sorry. I a.s.sure you it--it was not my fault."

Clodagh was bending low over the mare's neck, her flushed face partially hidden. She made no reply to his confused and stammering speech.

"Miss Clodagh," he began afresh, "you are not angry? You don't think it was my fault?"

Clodagh laughed a little tremulously.

"Of course not," she said. "How can you be so silly? I hadn't her properly in hand, that was all."

As she finished young a.s.shlin cantered back, halting on the further side of the ditch. His face was also flushed and his eyes looked dark.

"Look here," he said, eyeing Milbanke, "what did you mean by balking her like that? What were you doing with your beastly handkerchief?

'Twas no race, Clo!"

But Clodagh looked up.

"Oh yes, it was," she said. "It was all my own fault; I hadn't Polly in hand. I should have pulled her together and sent her over with a touch of the whip. Apologise, Larry! 'Twas a fair race."

But Larry still hesitated, his glance straying doubtfully from one face to the other.

"Honour bright, Clo?" he asked at last.

Clodagh nodded.

"Then I'm sorry, sir," he said frankly, "for saying what I said."

Milbanke made a murmur of forgiveness; and a moment later Nance appeared upon the scene, breathless and full of curiosity. As Larry entered upon a voluble account of the finish in reply to her eager questions, Clodagh wheeled the mare round and trotted quickly across the fields in the direction of the house.

For a moment or two Milbanke stood irresolute; then a sudden impulse to follow the mare and her rider seized him, and ignoring Nance and Larry--still absorbed in heated explanation--he took his way slowly across the green and springy turf.

His crossing of the field was measured and methodical, and he had barely come within sight of the arched gateway of the yard when Clodagh reappeared--this time on foot. The tail of her habit was tucked under one arm, the struggling form of an Irish terrier was held firmly under the other.

She came straight forward in his direction; and, reaching him, would have pa.s.sed on without speaking. But he halted in front of her.

"Miss Clodagh," he said, "you are hurt and disappointed."

Clodagh averted her eyes.

"I'm not," she said shortly.

"But I see that you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Miss Clodagh, you are. Can't I do something?"

Then at last she looked at him. Her cheeks were burning, and her eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears that only pride held back.

"It isn't the old race," she said defiantly. "It's--it's Mick."

Two tears suddenly welled over and dropped on the red head of the dog, who responded with an adoring look and a wild attempt to lick her face.

"Oh, I've had him since he was six weeks old!" she cried impulsively.

"I reared him and trained him myself! He knows every word I say."

Milbanke suddenly looked relieved.

"Is that all?" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Is that all? We'll soon put that right. Keep your dog. I'll settle matters with your cousin."

He glanced back across the fields to where Larry was walking the cob to and fro.

But Clodagh's face expressed intense surprise.

"But you don't understand," she said. "Mick was the stake. 'Twas a fair race, and Larry won. Mick is--is Larry's now."

He laughed a little.

"Oh, nonsense! You raced for fun."

"Yes, for the best fun we could get," she said seriously. "That's why we staked what we cared most about. Don't you understand?"

For the moment her grief was merged in her unaffected surprise at his lack of comprehension.

But Milbanke was staring at her interestedly. The scene at the breakfast-table, and with it a.s.shlin's offended pride and ridiculous dignity, had risen before him with her soft, surprised tone, her wide, incredulous gaze. With total unconsciousness she was voicing the sentiments of her race. An a.s.shlin might neglect everything else in the world, but his debts of honour were sacred things.

He looked more closely at the pretty, distressed face, at the br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes, and the resolutely set lips.

"And simply because you staked him," he said, "you intend to lose the dog?"

Clodagh caught her breath, and a fresh tear fell on Mick's head; then with a defiant lifting of the chin she started forward across the field.

"'Twas a fair race," she said in an unsteady voice.

CHAPTER VII

Whatever Clodagh may have felt upon the subject, she made no further allusion to the loss of her dog.

An hour after the race, Milbanke, standing at his bedroom window, caught a glimpse of Larry riding slowly across the fields towards the avenue with the evidently unwilling Mick held securely under his arm; and a few minutes afterwards, a noisy bell, clanging through the house, informed him that luncheon had been served.

The two girls were already in the dining-room when he entered. Clodagh had changed her riding habit for a neat holland dress; her hair was smoothly plaited, and only a lingering trace of the morning's excitement burned in her cheeks.

As the guest entered, she came forward at once and pointed to his chair with a pretty touch of gracious hospitality.