just at the point where the steeplechase-course joined the other, and Veteran, which had been running in a flat race the day before, suddenly swerves, and despite all Mr. Gowett's efforts, turns into the flat-race course, and gallops past the stand on the wrong side of the rails.
Yorke is now left in front with only one competitor against him, and for the first time there rises up within him the distinct hope of victory. But the old mare is drawing close; her stiffness is wearing off as she warms up with work; Yorke must keep ahead as far as the water-jump if he is to win. So feeling he presses his horse on.
Now it is not galloping but really racing pace, and, novice though he is at the work, he feels that his horse is not going well within himself; his stride has lost its spring, there is no longer any pull on the reins. He failed to clear the last hedge properly, but brushed through the top, and every yard since he has been going worse. The little horse is done. Now the last and biggest jump of all is close in front, and Yorke would fain have taken a pull on his horse and brought him up to it quietly. But there is no time to do this; glancing round he sees Egan riding coolly a bare two lengths behind. There is nothing for it but to cram on, and spurring Devotion, he drives him as hard as he can at the obstacle. The game little horse rises at it, clears the fence, but fails to clear the ditch, and coming down with his forefeet against the further side, rolls over heavily, discharging his rider beyond, where he lies stunned and motionless, while the mare, coming over safely a second afterwards, canters in a winner.
There was a rush of spectators to the scene of the accident, but almost before they could reach him Yorke had recovered his senses, though puzzled at first to know why he should be looking up at the sky with the fence behind him. He had in fact alighted on his head, turning a somersault as well as his horse. Spragge and Colonel Falkland were kneeling over him, and others ready to help, including all the medical officers on the ground; but in a minute or two he was able to stand up, and very soon, refreshed by the brandy-and-water of a thoughtful contributor, to walk toward the stand, while the sympathetic Spragge, as soon as he saw his friend recovered, turned his attention to Devotion, which had picked itself up and was standing quietly by, recovering its breath. "Little nag's all right too, I do believe," said Jerry, patting the horse affectionately, and loosening the saddle-girths; "it was a cropper too, and no mistake: there's a good bit of hair wanting from the off knee, though," he added, rubbing the part affected tenderly, "but it ain't deep; daresay we shall be able to get on your skin again, old man;" and so saying, led the gallant grey back to the saddling-enclosure.
"Your horse only wanted a little more blood to make a finish of it," said Colonel Falkland, in his pleasant low voice as he led Yorke back leaning on his arm; "the course was just half a mile too long for you; but at any rate you are the first man who ever rode a Cabulee in a steeple-chase, so you have done something to be proud of."
"Here is a lady who wants to see you," said the commissioner, meeting them, "to make sure you are really not hurt," and led him to the back of the stand, where stood Miss Cunningham at the top of the steps, waiting to meet him, pale and anxious.
As he advanced she ran down to meet him, holding out her hand, and led him up the stairs. At the top was a sort of landing-place with two or three chairs. The young lady, still holding his hand, almost pushed him into one.
"But I assure you I am quite able to stand," said Yorke, looking up with a smile at the anxious face above his; "I really feel ashamed to be sitting like this while you are standing,"
"Oh, but please do," said the young lady, earnestly, "to oblige me, at any rate;" and her voice, always rich and tremulous, reflected now the emotion she felt, and thrilled through the young man's heart. "Papa," she continued, "we must drive Mr. Yorke home — won't you call the carriage?"
"No, no; keep your seat," said the commissioner to Yorke, descending the steps, and stopping him as he rose to execute the order; "I'll bring up the carriage in a moment; you stay here and let my daughter take care of you."
Take care of him! As the young man sat in his chair, looking up at the beautiful face before him, he felt as if the fracture of every bone in his body would have been a cheap price to give for so much happiness. Another moment and he thought he must have fallen at her feet to express in some form the outpouring of
