the 24th, his horse, Surplice, whom he had parted with
among the rest of the stud, had won that paramount and
Olympic stake, to gain which had been the object of his
life. He had nothing to console him, and nothing to
sustain him, except his pride. Even that deserted him
before a heart, which he knew at least could yield him
sympathy. He gave a sort of superb groan.

"'All my life I have been trying for this, and for what
have I sacrificed it?' he murmured. It was in vain to
offer solace.

"'You do not know what the Derby is,' he moaned.

"'Yes, I do; it is the Blue Riband of the Turf.'

"'It is the Blue Riband of the Turf,' he slowly repeated
to himself; and, sitting down at a table, buried himself
in a folio of statistics."

Just a few months later, on 21st September 1848, his body was found
lying, cold and stiff, in a meadow about a mile from Welbeck. That very
morning he had risen full of health and spirits, and at four o'clock in
the afternoon had set out to walk across country to Thoresby, Lord
Manvers' seat, where he was to spend a couple of days. He had sent on
his valet by road in advance; but the night fell, and Lord George never
made his appearance. A search with lanterns was instituted, and about
midnight his body was discovered lying face downwards close to one of
the deer-park gates. He had been dead for some hours.