But, thank God, she had her darling boy, and whatever unhappiness
there might be in store for her she would bear it for his sake. He knew
that his father was ill, but she refrained and told him no word of the
tragedy that was hanging over them. The noble instincts which were so
intrinsically Esther Waters' told her that it were a pity to soil at the
outset a young life with a sordid story, and though it would have been an
inexpressible relief to her to have shared her trouble with her boy, she
forced back her tears and courageously bore her cross alone, without once
allowing its edge to touch him.
And every day that visitors were allowed she went to the hospital with the
newspaper containing the last betting. "Chasuble, ten to one taken,"
William read out. The mare had advanced three points, and William looked
at Esther inquiringly, and with hope in his eyes.
"I think she'll win," he said, raising himself in his cane chair.
"I hope so, dear," she murmured, and she settled his cushions.
Two days after the mare was back again at thirteen to one taken and
offered; she went back even as far as eighteen to one, and then returned
for a while to twelve to one. This fluctuation meant that something was
wrong, and William began to lose hope. But on the following day the mare
was backed to win a good deal of money at Tattersall's, and once more she
stood at ten to one.
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