``Eight seconds!''
``The Knight of the Cumberland wins,''
said the Hon. Sam.

The little sister, unconscious of her own
sad face, nudged me to look at the Blight
--there were tears in her eyes.


Before the grandstand the knights
slowly drew up again. Marston's horse
was so lame and tired that he dismounted
and let a darky boy lead him under the
shade of the trees. But he stood on foot
among the other knights, his arms folded,
worn out and vanquished, but taking his
bitter medicine like a man. I thought
the Blight's eyes looked pityingly upon
him.

The Hon. Sam arose with a crown of
laurel leaves in his hand:

``You have fairly and gallantly won,
Sir Knight of the Cumberland, and it is
now your right to claim and receive from
the hands of the Queen of Love and
Beauty the chaplet of honor which your
skill has justly deserved. Advance, Sir