War clouds were gathering when the royal meeting began at Ascot, but very few people imagined they would burst so soon.

Alan Chesney had a strong team for the fashionable gathering; and, as usual. Eve Berkeley had taken a house at Ascot, among her guests being Ella Hallam, Harry Morby, and Vincent Newport, also Bernard Hallam, who had just arrived from Australia. Alan stayed at the Royal Hotel, where his horses were stabled. In the team were the Epsom winners, Robin Hood, The Duke, and Evelyn; in the Hunt Cup he had Bandmaster, with the light weight of seven stone.

Fred Skane pronounced Bandmaster a pretty good thing for the popular handicap; he was much surprised when the horse only had seven stone allotted him.

It was a brilliant Ascot; it always is, but on this occasion there seemed to be more people than usual, and there was much gaiety in the neighborhood.

Eve Berkeley, however, did not seem in such high spirits as usual. Her love for Alan Chesney grew and strengthened. She longed for him to ask her to be his wife, and wondered why he hung back. Was it possible he did not see how she loved him? Alan had not been to The Forest much lately, and she wondered why. Her attachment to him caused her pain, for she saw no signs that it was returned in the way she desired. Had she offended him in any way? She was not aware of having done so! Her surroundings at Ascot, however, dispelled these gloomy feelings before the first day's racing was over, and Alan had been more attentive to her than for some time past.

On Hunt Cup Day there was a tremendous crowd, and thirty runners were saddled for the big race. Spur was favorite, and even in such a big field he touched four to one an hour before the race. Another well backed was Manifest, while Hooker, Bird, and half a dozen more had plenty of friends. Bandmaster stood at a hundred to five in the betting, and at this price Alan and his friends secured some good wagers.

Bernard Hallam was impressed by the horses, and his remarks in the paddock proved he was a good judge. The Australian had a free and easy way that soon won him friends. He was more approachable than Valentine Braund, although they seemed to have much in common.

He was delighted with Eve Berkeley, and told his daughter she was the most beautiful woman he had seen.

"Don't fall in love with her," laughed Ella; "she's dangerous, has a host of admirers, but it doesn't make her a bit conceited. She is my best friend; I like her so much."

Eve got on well with Bernard Hallam; he amused her. She liked him better than the American; she thought him more genuine and reliable.

Baron Childs was running White Legs in the Hunt Cup, a five-year-old chestnut with four white legs, a useful horse, winner of three or four good handicaps. He was talking to Eve Berkeley in the paddock as Alan Chesney went across to Bandmaster. Eve did not see him; she was in animated conversation. Alan smiled as he saw them, wondering if she was requesting another tip, and if it would prove as good as Merry Monarch.

"Not half a bad horse," said Bernard Hallam as he looked at Bandmaster.

"He's pretty good and he's got a very light weight. I fancy he'll just about win," said Alan.

Harry Morby and Vincent Newport had already backed the horse and were enthusiastic about his chances. Valentine Braund pronounced Bandmaster too light and said he would look elsewhere for the winner.

"Better ask Miss Berkeley for the tip. She's talking to Baron
Childs—he owns White Legs," said Alan.

"Not a bad idea," replied Braund. "Do you really think your horse has a chance?"

"Of course I do; I've backed him."

"Scraggy animal, not my sort at all."

"Sorry he does not please you," said Alan, laughing; "but your poor opinion will not stop him."

Skane was saddling the horse. Mark Colley, Tommy Colley's youngest brother, stood close by. He was to ride, and had already donned the brown and blue-sleeved jacket. Mark was a clever lightweight, and had been well coached by his brother and Fred Skane, whose apprentice he was, but he had already forfeited the five pound allowance, having ridden the requisite number of winners. He was a merry little fellow, and still retained his boyish ways, although Skane said he had the wisdom of a man in his head. His brother, Tommy, was riding Manifest, and Ben Bradley had the mount on White Legs.

Half an hour before the horses went out there was a gay scene in the paddock, animated conversations were going on, many tips were given, and the interest in the race was intense.

Baron Childs was confident about White Legs; the horse had been highly tried, and Ben Bradley was sanguine of winning.

"You gave me the Derby winner," said Eve, "and I shall back your colors again to-day."

"Mr. Chesney's horse must have a good chance; he has a very light weight," said the Baron.

"I believe he thinks it is a good thing; but he said Gold Star would win the Derby and that did not come off," said Eve.

"Do you like my horse?" he asked.

"Very much. He is in splendid condition."

"Then back him. I feel sure it will bring luck to my colors."

"Have you met Mr. Hallam?" she asked. "He has recently come from
Australia, and is well known in the racing world there."

"I should like to meet him."

"Then I will introduce you; he is over there looking at Bandmaster," said Eve, and they walked in that direction.

"Here comes Eve with her escort," said Alan, laughing.

"The Baron evidently enjoys her society," said Ella. Then as Eve joined them she said:

"Has Baron Childs given you another tip?"

"Yes, White Legs; I shall back him," answered Eve, and then introduced
Mr. Hallam, who at once monopolized the Baron's attention.

"So you are going to back the Baron's tip again?" said Alan.

"Yes. Why not?"

"Because I think my horse will win," said Alan.

"Very well then; I will stick to White Legs," said Eve.

"Quite right, follow the Baron; it was a favorite cry years ago," was
Alan's reply.

"You do not appear to care whether I back your horse or not," said Eve sharply.

"I don't suppose it will make any difference to his winning chance," said Alan.

"The Baron says I bring him good luck when I back his horses," she replied.

"Very nice of him, I am sure. I suppose he puts Merry Monarch's Derby win down to that cause."

"Perhaps he does; anyhow he's more complimentary than you," snapped Eve.

Alan was amused. What was she cross about?

Eve saw he was amused and it irritated her. She began to think he cared very little about her; this feeling hurt and caused her pain mingled with anger. Why was he so blind when others acknowledged her charms, sometimes made love to her; she had spurned them all for his sake and he neglected her. She felt reckless; a plunge might relieve the tension, cause excitement, make her forget these things. She turned to the Baron and said:

"Will you execute a commission for me?"

"With pleasure. Are you going to back my horse?"

"Yes; put me five hundred on," she said.

He thought it a large sum but made no remark except to say she might consider it done.

"I will get the best price possible," he said, "and I hope he will win."

"So do I," she replied.

Alan overheard this; she intended he should, and when the Baron left he said:

"You have backed the wrong horse this time; the Baron will not win."

"I suppose you think I ought to have backed your horse because you are my next-door neighbor?" she answered sharply.

He laughed.

"Most of your friends are on Bandmaster."

"Then I shall be able to chaff them when White Legs has won," she answered.

"I say, old man, your horse is coming with a rattle in the betting; there's a pot of money going on," said Harry Morby.

"Mine, no doubt," answered Alan. "I have sent out a late commission. I am anxious to win; it will take Miss Berkeley down a peg; she always pins her faith to the Baron's colors."

"That's your fault," said Harry.

"Why?"

"Because you treat her with indifference and she doesn't deserve it."

"I am not aware of doing so," said Alan. He would have resented this from anybody except Morby, who was a privileged person.

Captain Morby did not pursue the subject further.

"You can keep a secret, Alan?" he asked.

"I'll try. You're a mysterious fellow, Harry."

"It's about the regiment," he said. "We're to hold ourselves ready at a moment's notice—don't split—I might be court-martialled."

"Whew!" whistled Alan. "This looks serious."

"Bet you there's war before long; it's a bigger cert than Bandmaster," said Harry.

"And I'm out of it."

"You needn't be. Join us again. You'll easily get your commission; they'll want all the men they can get, especially officers."

"If there is trouble I shall not be idle," said Alan.

"I know that, old fellow; no need to tell me that."

Something seemed to be in the air. There were many officers present and they were talking in groups of three or four. Judging by their faces it was not about racing; Alan noticed this and thought:

"It's coming, the great upheaval; Fraser's man is right. By Jove, I'll hustle, as Braund would say, when things begin to move."

The horses were going to the post and the June sun shone on the thirty bright jackets as they went past. The din in Tattersalls was deafening. In the crowded enclosure there was hardly room to move; eager backers jostled each other in their anxiety to get at the bookmakers.

Peet Craker left the rails for a moment as he saw Alan Chesney.

"I've a matter of a couple of thousand left against Bandmaster," he said.

"I'll have it," answered Alan; and the bookmaker said, "at a hundred to eight."

"That's a fair price," said Alan.

"Will he win, Mr. Chesney?"

"He has a real good chance, Peet," replied Alan.

The horses disappeared over the brow of the hill, cantered down the slope, and ranged behind the barrier, with the trees for a background. It was a beautiful line of color as seen from the top of the stands.