The big field got away in an almost unbroken line, a splendid start; a loud shout proclaimed the race had commenced. For a few minutes they disappeared, then as they came up the rise the caps appeared over the brow of the hill, and in a couple of seconds the thirty horses were in full view, stretched across the wide course, advancing like a cavalry charge.

A wonderful race the Royal Hunt Cup, a beautiful sight. It has been described scores of times and no description exaggerates its charm. The course is grand, the surroundings picturesque; historical associations cling to the famous heath, where kings and princes, lords and commoners, have assembled year after year, and royal processions have come up the course amid the enthusiastic plaudits of vast crowds. Truly the sport of racing is the sport of kings, and no less of a huge majority of the people.

Bernard Hallam and Valentine Braund acknowledged its charm. There was nothing quite like it anywhere, one of the racing sights of the world, different from Epsom on Derby Day, Doncaster on Leger Day, or glorious Goodwood, unique in its way; no such gathering can be seen in any other country.

The attention of thousands of people was riveted on the horses; all other thoughts were excluded. For a few brief moments everything was forgotten but the business in hand, the probable result, which horse would be added to the long roll of Hunt Cup winners.

The thirty horses were almost level as they came in sight, one or two stragglers, but it was an even race so far. As they began the ascent, the stiff pull to the winning-post, the field lengthened out, horse after horse fell back, and a dozen only possessed chances. The rise finds out the weak spots, and the lack of a final gallop makes a lot of difference. It takes a good horse to win a Hunt Cup; no matter if he does little after, he must be brilliant on the day.

Alan stood with Captain Morby and Captain Newport high on the grand-stand. They knew where to command the best view of the race; it was a climb, a scramble to get there, but worth it.

"Bandmaster's in the center," said Harry. "He's going strong, but he'll have to make his run soon, there's a good many lengths between him and Spur."

The favorite was at the head of the field, traveling in great style.
There was just a suspicion he would not quite stay the course, but he
seemed to be giving it the lie. Close on his heels came Manifest,
Bird, Hooker, Peter's Lad, Beltan, and White Legs.

The Baron's horse began slowly, but soon joined up with the rest. The scarlet jacket was prominent, and as Eve saw it creeping toward the front, she felt confident the Baron's tip would again come off. She wondered why she did not feel enthusiastic at the prospect of a good win. Was it because she would rather have had her money on Bandmaster and see Alan's colors successful? Perhaps it was; anyhow it was absurd to wish to see his colors in front when her money was on White Legs.

Manifest shot to the front as they drew level with the lawn, followed by Bird, and Peter's Lad; with a rush came Scout, an outsider. White Legs was gaining ground. Right in the center of the course was Bandmaster, who liked the stiff going and tackled the work like a good 'un, the seven stone gave him every chance.

Alan was anxious to win; the Hunt Cup was a race he often had a shot at; so far his horses had not run into a place. He had great hopes of Bandmaster's changing his luck.

Valentine Braund backed Manifest, not a bad pick; Bernard Hallam was on Bandmaster; so was Ella, and most of Eve Berkeley's party followed the brown and blue sleeves.

A loud shout greeted the appearance of White Legs in the leading trio, and Bradley looked so much at ease that all who had backed the horse were confident; before the distance was reached the scarlet jacket held the lead, and the Baron's horse appeared to have a mortgage on the race.

Young Colley still had Bandmaster in the center of the track, clear of the others. He was riding a cool, well-judged race, and had every confidence in his mount. Yard by yard the horse crept up; his jockey knew he was gaining at every stride. He measured the distance to the winning-post with critical eyes and felt certain of victory. From the stands Bandmaster seemed to be a long way behind the leaders, and Alan thought his bad luck in the race was to continue. Gradually the sounds increased until they culminated in a roar as White Legs came on at the head of the field, followed by Manifest, and Spur, who had come again in gallant style.

A lull in the shouting for an infinitesimal moment, then a terrific roar proclaimed Bandmaster was pulling hard.

The brown and blue came along fast, very fast, and there was no sign of faltering on the part of Bandmaster, who tackled his stiff work in bull-dog style.

"By gad, he'll do it!" exclaimed Harry excitedly.

"Looks cheerful," said Vincent.

Alan made no remark. He was not quite certain his horse would catch
White Legs and Manifest; he had given Spur the go by.

There was considerable doubt as to which horse would win, although the odds were in favor of White Legs.

Bradley, riding a confident race, was on the alert; he never threw a chance away. Tommy Colley got every ounce out of Manifest; and when his brother drew alongside on Bandmaster he knew he must make the last ounce a trifle over weight to win.

For a second the pair hung together, then Manifest was beaten, but struggled on. Roar upon roar came from the vast crowd as Bandmaster got to White Legs' quarters, and the excitement was tremendous.

Eve Berkeley looked on anxiously. At this critical point she hoped the Baron's horse would be first past the post; she would draw a large sum, and the prospect of winning was delightful.

Bradley was the stronger rider, but he had not more determination than his young rival. Bandmaster drew level, and in the next few strides got his head in front. At this Alan's feelings grew too strong for him and he shouted:

"Bandmaster wins!" two or three times.

It was a grand race and one to be remembered.

Again White Legs held a slight advantage, but Bandmaster was not done with, and the difference in weight told its tale. Colley was riding hard; it was a very clever effort on his part, and recognized as such. As they closed on to the winning-post Bandmaster again got his head in front and this time White Legs could not wrest the advantage from him.

A few more strides decided the race. Bandmaster won by half a length from White Legs, with Manifest third.

Although Alan's horse started at twelve to one he was heavily backed, and his win was well received. There was much cheering as the horse came in; the brown and blue was popular; the Chesney colors were always out to win.

Alan came in for a full share of congratulations, Baron Childs being one of the first to greet him.

"I suppose I must join in the paeans of victory," said Eve smiling.

"You can't feel very delighted under the circumstances," said Alan.
"It would have suited you better had White Legs won."

"Perhaps it would. Still I am very glad you have won a Hunt Cup at last; you have had several tries," she replied.

"It's good of you to say so," he said. "I told you my horse had a big chance."

"You did. I don't know what made me follow the Baron's tip."

"I think I do."

"What?"

"You have more confidence in his advice than mine," he said.

"I do not think that was the reason."

"What other could there be?"

"Obstinacy," she said.

"I never thought of that—perversity would be better."

"Much the same thing," she replied.

"I am afraid I put you wrong," said the Baron. "If it had not been for me you would no doubt have backed Mr. Chesney's horse."

"You must not blame yourself for that. I am quite satisfied," she said.

"You would have been more satisfied had the Baron's horse won," said
Alan.

"Naturally; I backed it."

"Not for that reason alone," answered Alan, as he walked away and joined Ella and her father.

"He leaves me for Ella always," thought Eve with a pang, "and yet I do not think he cares for her that way. I believe he half loves me. I'll put him to the test one of these days, it's worth the risk; nothing venture, nothing have—an old saying which often comes true."

When Alan returned to Trent Park he found Duncan Fraser waiting for him and at once knew there was something important to communicate. Fraser looked serious as he said:

"I hope you had an enjoyable time at Ascot?"

"Yes; won the Hunt Cup and another race. Made a few thousands in the meeting," said Alan.

"There'll be war in little over a month," said Fraser.

"You have had more news from Berlin?"

"This letter came this morning. I knew you were to be home to-day, so thought I'd bring it over."

Alan thanked him, read it, and said:

"What on earth is the Government doing? It ought to be informed."

"It is—has been for sometime. But we know how it is. They always wait until their hands are forced—they are afraid."

"Of what, of what can a British Government be afraid?"

"First and foremost, of the anti-war party, the peace-at-any-price men; then the labor party, votes are the chief consideration. It's abominable," said Fraser.

"Like sticking to office, I suppose?"

"Yes; at all costs."

"You are certain they know there will be war?"

"They must."

"And they will meet the shock unprepared?"

"As regards the army, yes; not the navy. There never was a navy stronger than ours at the present day, but it's been a tremendous fight to get the money, men and ships," said Fraser.

"You ought to be in the House," said Alan.

Fraser laughed.

"I should want a free hand from my constituents," he said.

"And you'd get it; you're just the man," replied Alan.

"What are you going to do?" asked Fraser.

"If war breaks out?"

"Yes."

"Try and get the commission I threw up," said Alan.

"I thought so, and really I can't blame you; we shall want every man we can get," said Duncan Fraser.