od many men under the knife before now, and I tell you I never saw
one who bore himself better. Men and horses alike, it's breeding that
tells when it comes to the push. You know that, eh, Chifney?"

In the red drawing-room, where the drama of this sad night centred,
Roger Ormiston had dropped into a chair by the fireside, his head sunk
on his chest and his hands thrust into his pockets. He was very tired,
very miserable. A shocking thing had happened, and, in some degree, he
held himself responsible for that happening. For was it not he who had
been so besotted with the Clown, and keen about its training? Therefore
the young man cursed himself, after the manner of his kind; and cursed
his luck, in that, if this thing was to happen, it had not happened to
him instead of to Richard Calmady.

Mrs. Denny, the housekeeper, had retired to a straight-backed chair
stationed against the wall. She sat there, waiting till the next call
should come for her skilful nursing, upright, her hands folded upon her
silk apron, her attitude a model of discreet and self-respecting
repose. Mrs. Denny knew her place, and had a considerable capacity for
letting other persons know theirs. She ruled the large household with
unruffled calm. But, to-night, even her powers of self-control were
heavily taxed; and though she carried her head high, she could not help
tears coursing slowly down her cheeks, and falling sadly to the
detriment of the goffered frills of her white, lawn cross-over.

And Richard Calmady, meanwhile, lay still and very fairly peaceful upon
the narrow camp-bed in the middle of the room. He had lain there, save
during one hour,--the memory of which haunted Katherine with hideous
and sickening persistence,--ever since Tom Chifney, the head-lad from
the stables, and a couple of grooms had carried him in, on a hurdle,
from the steeple-chase course four days ago.

The crimson-covered chairs and sofas, and other furniture of the large
square room, had been pushed back against the walls in a sort of
orderly confusion, leaving a broad passageway between the doors at
either end, and a wide vacant space round the bed. At the head of this
stood a high, double-shelved what-not, bearing medicine bottles, cups,
basins, rolled bandages, dressings of rag and lint, a spirit-lamp over
which simmered a vessel containing vinegar, and a couple of shaded
candles in a tall, branched, silver candlestick. The light from these
fell, in intersecting c