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that reason, Absurd! Yet it was a queer coincidence. A lucky omen.

At the post Nigger gave no trouble. He got away cleanly and well as the barrier went up. Ann knew a thrill of pride in the gallant old horse. He was so steady and unperturbed—so ready to respond to any call made upon him. He was galloping strongly, and jumping in good style as they passed the judges’ box for the first time. Three horses were ahead of him, but Ann felt no anxiety as to his ultimate chance of victory. He was so sure and safe—he gave one the impression of having full confidence in his own power to win. He was gradually overhauling the three in front of him as the horses passed away behind a belt of trees, further from the stand. Again they came in sight, and Nigger had gained to second place.

A horse coming through from the ruck behind, had begun to challenge his position. But Nigger still held it, though the distance between himself and the leader had lengthened. As the race progressed, no further change was apparent, and when they were swinging round for the last two fences before entering the straight, and the run for home, Ann began to fear that Nigger could never make up the leeway between himself and the first horse before they passed the judges’ box. The rest of the field were beaten—the race lay between the first three horses, and now Opou in the lead seemed a certain winner. The crowd in the stand were already beginning to shout: “Opou! Opou wins!” But at the last fence but one, Opou blundered, and came down. He and his jockey were up in a moment, but the race was over for them. It had resolved itself now into a struggle between Nigger and the third horse, Acepot. They jumped the