He had that-gift of visualization which makes life an endless procession
of pictures which allure, or which wear the nature into premature old
age. The last picture flashing before his eyes, as he sat there alone,
was of himself and his elder brother, Garnett, now master of Castlegarry,
racing ponies to reach the lodge-gates before they closed for the night,
after a day of disobedience and truancy. He remembered how Garnett had
given him the better pony of the two, so that the younger brother, who
would be more heavily punished if they were locked out, should have the
better chance. Garnett, if odd in manner and character, had always been
a true sportsman though not a lover of sport.
If--if--why had he never thought of Garnett? Garnett could help him, and
he would do so. He would let Garnett stand in with him--take one-third
of his profits from the syndicate. Yes, he must ask Garnett to see him
through. Then it was that he lifted his head from his hands, and his
mind awakened out of a dream as real as though he had actually been
asleep. Garnett--alas! Garnett was thousands of miles away, and he had
not heard from him for five years. Still, he knew the master of
Castlegarry was alive, for he had seen him mentioned in a chance number
of The Morning Post lately come to his hands.
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