Meanwhile the horses pounded away over the course, still in the same order.  “Miracour” leading, “Bluebell” falling behind, and the “King” creeping up easily to the second place.

The first fence placed nearly half the horses out of the running; the next threw out two more, though the “King” cleared it in his stride, so close in the wake of his rival that a speck of white foam flecked the haunches of the leader.

Adrien nodded approvingly.

“That fellow knows how to ride,” he said.  “If he keeps the ‘King’ like that, the race is ours.”

“Oh yes,” agreed Vermont, smiling grimly; “he understands him, evidently.  It is to be hoped he keeps him cool till the spurt comes.”

“Which will be after the last jump,” put in Lord Standon, as he shifted his field-glasses.

“Exactly,” purred Jasper.

Hedge after hedge was cleared, and still “Miracour” was leading; but it was evident that the high blood of the “King” was burning to get away, and that his jockey was playing a waiting game.

It was at the stream that the strain began to tell.  “Bluebell,” the Irish mare, had struggled on gamely; but at the last she refused to leap, she stopped short, and her jockey was pitched forward into the water.

A laugh arose even in the midst of the excitement; but it was speedily drowned in the cries of “The ‘King’ wins.  No!  No!  ’Miracour!’—­’Vicket’—­beats.  No!  No! the ’King’—­the ‘King’s’ got away!”

They were right, for Peacock had thought it wisest to put the spurt on already, and the “King,” with every fibre stretched to its utmost, had darted ahead.  “Miracour” caught up again, and side by side they raced over the level flat, cheered and shouted at by the frantic crowd.

A roar like that of the sea broke forth as the two animals neared the last obstacle, a great hedge filled with thorn, and like a miniature mountain.  Neck and neck they seemed to be, when suddenly the “King” darted forward, and, amid terrific shouts of astonishment, took the leap too short, fell sideways, and pitched his jockey into the short scrub, a dozen feet away.

“Miracour” rose for the leap, and clearing it, cantered in the winner by sixty lengths.

For a moment there was tense silence, broken by a roar of surprise, rage and disappointment, as the crowd broke away and swarmed over the course to the spot where the jockey still lay.  A murmur of horror had also gone throughout the length of the grand stand; but whether of disappointment, or at the fall of the rider, it was hard to say.

All eyes were turned on Adrien.  His face was rather pale, but quite calm, and closing up his field-glasses he said: 

“‘Miracour’ ran finely.  I can’t understand the ‘King’ falling at the last jump.  Jasper, let us go down and see if the fellow is hurt.”

Making their excuses to the ladies they hurried down the steps, and strode swiftly over the course, the crowd making way for them in hushed silence, for they recognised Leroy as the owner of the defeated favourite.