Now, Griffin, for your life! bring all the knowledge, all the pluck learned and nurtured in far-away Yorkshire spinneys to this one test--you have a foeman worthy of your steel-spurs; show that you know yet a better thing than he, and win the race! Up came the horse, blown, panting, with red eyeballs, drooping crest: in the hollow it looked as if it were all over, but Griffin steadied him quietly, and then brought him at the leap with a rush. One tremendous welt he gave him, one home-dig with the spurs, and Devilskin rose at the post and rails,--rose to fall helplessly into the midst of them staked and dying; while, so close as almost to brush his writhing carcass Gray Duchess slips by, and gallops in the winner and sole survivor of the fray. Mr. Stallbrass closed his race-glass, muttered a strong word, and turned to speak to his friend; but as he turned he felt a heavy weight on his shoulder, and heard the words "Ruined--ruined, by God!" muttered in his ear. The next moment Mr. Guyon was lying on his back at the bottom of the phaeton, livid in the face, and breathing stertorously. An alarm was raised, and a mounted gentleman, announcing himself to be a doctor, rode up to the phaeton, threw himself from his horse, and after a hasty examination, pronounced Mr. Guyon to be in an apoplectic fit, and shook his head very dubiously as to the result. CHAPTER XI. "IN THE DEAD UNHAPPY NIGHT." The first confusion and alarm which had ensued on Mr. Guyon's sudden illness had subsided, and had been succeeded by the orderly hush of a house in which mortal sickness had assumed its irresistible sway. Mr. Guyon had been carried upstairs to the large bedroom formerly occupied by Katharine, and which he had used since his daughter's marriage. The doctor who had been found and brought to his assistance upon the race-course, and his own physician, for whom the housekeeper had sent at once, before she had despatched the footman to carry the evil tidings to Mrs. Streightley, were busily but silently occupied with the insensible form. The servants, frightened and helpless as servants generally are, were standing about on the stairs and landing-place, ready to obey such orders as were transmitted to them from time to time from the grave gentleman in that awful room, through the medium of the housekeeper. They whispered together solemnly at intervals, and started when the door on which all their attention was fixed opened a little, and Mrs. Clarke beckoned one of the two women towards her. Mr. Stallbrass was in the dingy dining-room, awaiting the award of the solemn tribunal upstairs. He was a kind-hearted fellow enough; and having done so much, "having picked up the poor old boy," he thought, "I may as well see it out." Mrs. Clarke had entreated him to remain--her master's daughter, she said, would be here immediately, and she would want to hear how it happened. So this modern type of Good Samaritan, useful but not officious, and rather sheepish about