all his troubles in front of him. No one could help
him any more.
Colonel Hesmon looked almost forlorn when the
horse and his long-legged rider had vanished through
the crowd. He had the appearance of a man who
has been left behind. And as I see it now, in the
light of my knowledge of after-events, there was a
premonition in his momentarily forsaken air. Elderly
people used to look like that during the War, when
they had said good-bye to someone and the train had
left them alone on the station platform. But the
Colonel at once regained his spryness: he turned to me
to say what a pity it was that the course was such a bad
one for the spectators. Then he got out his field-glasses
and lost consciousness of everything but the race.
The horses appeared to be galloping very slowly
when they came in sight for the last time. I was
standing up on the hill and couldn't see them dis-
tinctly. They had undoubtedly taken a long time to
get round the course. Three of them jumped the last
fence in a bunch, and Jerry was one of the three.
For years afterwards that last fence was a recurrent
subject of conversation in the Colwood family, but
there was always a good deal of uncertainty about
what actually happened. Stephen admitted that it
was "a bit of a mix-up59. Anyhow, one of them
fell, another one pecked badly, and Jerry disengaged
himself from the group to scuttle up the short strip of
meadow to win by a length.
The Colonel, of course, was the proudest man in
Sussex, and I myself could scarcely believe that
Stephen had really won. The only regrettable
element was provided by the dismal face of the man