Adrien's appearance in the stable-yard was the signal for much
excitement among the hands there; and presently the head groom made his
appearance, struggling into his coat, while coughing with embarrassed
respect.

"Good morning, Markham," said his master with a nod; "where's the
'King'?"

"In the south stable, sir," replied the man, as he fumbled in his pocket
for the keys. "You would like to see him, sir?"

Adrien nodded, and made his way to the stable, accompanied by the groom.

"No one else is allowed to enter the stable but yourself, Markham?" he
asked, as the man unlocked the door.

"No one, sir. I'm always here when he's being littered or fed. Not a
soul touches him without I'm at his side. He's in fine condition, sir; I
never saw him in better."

Adrien passed his hand over the satiny coat of the race-horse. The
dainty creature pricked up his finely-pointed ears, and turned to his
master with a whinny of delight.

"He looks well enough," he admitted. "Has he had his gallop this
morning?"

"Yes, sir; but would you like to see him across the paddock?"

"Yes," said Adrien. "By the way, who rides him to-morrow?"

"Peacock, sir."

"Ah, the new jockey."

"Yes, sir; Mr. Vermont's lad," returned the groom.