Marquess stood to win £35,000 by her, and did not hedge the stake-money.

The public indignation at these discreditable incidents found a vent in
the columns of the _Times_; and although Lord Hastings denied that there
was "one single circumstance mentioned as regards the two horses,
correctly stated," and offered a frank explanation in both cases, the
public refused to be appeased, and the stigma remained.

So overwhelmed was he by this combination of assaults on his fortune and
his good name that his health--undermined no doubt by excesses--broke
down. He spent the summer months of 1868 in his yacht, cruising among
the northern seas in search of health; but no sea-breezes could bring
back colour to his cheeks or hope to his heart. He was a broken man
before he had reached his prime, and he realised that his sun was near
its setting. When he returned to England no one who saw him could doubt
that the end was at hand. But his ruling passion remained strong to the
last. He was advised by his friends to stay away from the Doncaster
races; but he would go, though he could only with difficulty hobble on
crutches.

The last pathetic glimpse the world caught of this former idol of the
Turf was as, from a basket-carriage, with pale, haggard face and
straining eyes, he watched Athena, a beautiful mare which had once been
his, win a race. As she was being led to the weighing-house he struggled
from his carriage, hobbled on his crutches up to the beautiful animal,
and lovingly patted her glossy neck.

Such was the last appearance of the ill-fated Marquess on a scene of his
former triumphs. For a few months longer he made a gallant fight for
life. He even contemplated another voyage, and a winter in Egypt; but,