taring through his silver
spectacles at the awkwardly lying ball that represents poor Spraggon.

'By Heavens!' exclaims he, in an undertone to himself, 'I believe he's
killed!' And thereupon he swung down the stand-stairs, rushed to his horse,
and, clapping spurs to his sides, struck across the country to the spot.

Long before he got there the increased uproar of the spectators announced
the final struggle; and looking over his shoulder, he saw white jacket
hugging his horse home, closely followed by red, and shooting past the
winning-post.

'Dash that Mr. Sponge!' growled his lordship, as the cheers of the winners
closed the scene.

'The brute's won, in spite of him!' gasped Buckram, turning deadly pale at
the sight.

CHAPTER LXIX

HOW OTHER THINGS CAME OFF

'Twere hard to say whether Lucy's joy at Sponge's safety, or Lord
Scamperdale's grief at poor Spraggon's death, was most overpowering. Each
found relief in a copious flood of tears. Lucy sobbed and laughed, and
sobbed and laughed again; and seemed as if her little heart would burst its
bounds. The mob, ever open to sentiment--especially the sentiment of
beauty--cheered and shouted as she rode with her lover from the winning to
the weighing-post.

'A', she's a bonny un!' exclaimed a countryman, looking intently up in her
face.

'She is that!' cried another, doing the same.

'Three cheers for the lady!' shouted a tall Shaggyford rough, taking off
his woolly cap, and waving it.

'Hoo-ray! hoo-ray! hoo-ray!' shouted a group of flannel-clad navvies.

'Three for white jacket!' then roared a blue-coated butcher, who had won as
many half-crowns on the race.--Three cheers were given for the unwilling
winner.

'Oh, my poor dear Jack!' exclaimed his lordship, throwing himself off his
horse, and wringing his hands in despair, as a select party of
thimble-riggers, who had gone to Jack's assistance, raised him up, and
turned his ghastly face, with his eyes squinting inside out, and the foam
still on his mouth, full upon him. 'Oh, my poor dear Jack!' repeated his
lordship, sinking on his knees beside him, and grasping his stiffening hand
as he spoke. His lordship sank overpowered upon the body.

The thimble-riggers then availed themselves of the opportunity to ease his
lordship and Jack of their watches and the few shillings they had about
them, and departed.

When a lord is in distress, consolation is never long in coming; and Lord
Scamperdale had ha