"Perhaps he will not be content with a cousinly regard," said Mrs. Harrington, mysteriously.

Elizabeth glanced quickly at Elsie, with a little trouble in her face, but the girl laughed, and replied—

"Oh yes, he will; Bessie is his ideal—he will never think of poor little me."

"Family affection is so sweet!" added Mrs. Harrington. Elsie made a grimace, and hastened to change the conversation, for there was nothing she dreaded so much as the widow's attempt at romance and sentiment.

CHAPTER III.

A FRIGHT AND A RESCUE.

For some time the ladies rode on in silence. Then Elsie broke into a fit of ecstasy over the horses.

"They are so perfectly matched," she said. "Brother Grant needn't have been doubtful about them; he sha'n't persuade you to change them, shall he?"

"They are beautiful creatures," Bessie observed, absently.

"Naturally, Mr. Mellen was anxious that they should be entirely safe," said Mrs. Harrington, theatrically, "for he has trusted his dearest treasures—his sister and his betrothed wife—to me; and if there is danger, it is for them as well as me."

"What a pretty speech!" said Elsie. "I know you got it out of a novel!"

Elsie had a gay scarf wound about her neck, and began complaining of the warmth.

"I would not take it off," Mrs. Harrington urged, "you will be certain to get cold."

"There is no danger," replied Elsie; "I shall smother, wrapped up in this way."

"But you must keep it on!"

"Indeed, I won't; there!"

They had a playful contention for an instant, then Elsie snatched the scarf from her neck with a triumphant laugh, and held it up beyond Mrs. Harrington's reach.

A sudden rush of wind carried the light fabric out of her hand, and it sailed away like a gorgeous streamer. Elsie gave a little cry, but it was frozen on her lips. One of the horses had been restive from the first. The scarf floated over his head, curved downward, and one end got entangled with his bridle. The shy, spirited creature gave a wild bound, communicated like terror to his companion, and away the frenzied pair dashed, taking the coachman so completely by surprise, that he was helpless as a child. It was one of those brief occurrences which pass like lightning to lookers-on, but seem an eternity to the persons in danger. Mrs. Harrington's shrieks rang out sharp and shrill; Elsie gave one shuddering moan, and crouched down in the bottom of the carriage, hiding her face in Elizabeth's dress.

Elizabeth Fuller was deathly pale. She realized the full terror of their situation. She uttered no shriek, but clasped her arms around Elsie, and strove to speak a few reassuring words to Mrs. Harrington, which were drowned by the woman's terrified shrieks.

Elizabeth looked desperately down the road over which the horses were rushing like wild desert steeds. The carriages in sight were turned quickly on one side, and their inmates seemed uncertain how to assist them. Any attempt to stop the frightened and infuriated animals threatened certain death.

Elizabeth saw this, and her heart died within her. They were now at the top of a long hill, keeping the road, but hurled onward like lightning. At the foot of the hill was a loaded cart, its driver vainly striving to whip his team out of the way. The brave girl saw this new danger, and fell back with a groan. She knew that the carriage would be whirled against that ponderous load, and dashed to atoms. Effort was hopeless, she could only stretch forth her arms, draw Elsie close, close to her cold heart, and pray dumbly that she might in mercy be permitted to die for his sister.

Still, in her anguish and terror, she looked out beyond the leaping horses, as they thundered down the hill. The man had sprung from his cart, and, with his whip in both hands, was lashing his overtasked beasts in frantic terror. Beyond him came a person on horseback, riding furiously. But they were close to the cart now. It was still more than half across the road. Sick with dread, she closed her eyes, holding Elsie close, and turning, as it were, to stone, with the shrieking young coward in her arms.

In another instant there was a shock which threw them all off their seats; and when Elizabeth could realize anything, or recover from the deafening effect of Mrs. Harrington's cries, she knew that the horses had been stopped—the peril was over.

The gentleman she had discovered through blinding clouds of dust, riding swiftly towards the hill, had seen their danger, dismounted, and with ready presence of mind, prepared to seize the horses the instant the carriage struck against the cart.

One wheel was forced partially off, but there was no other harm done. Elsie and Mrs. Harrington had both flung themselves on Elizabeth, so that she could neither see nor hear; but the widow discovering that she was still alive, made a little moan, and began to shake out her flounces when she saw the gentleman who had rescued them standing by the side of the carriage.

"You are safe, ladies," he said, opening the door; "you had better get out and walk on to the hotel—it is only a few steps."

"How can we ever thank you!" sobbed Mrs. Harrington. "You are our preserver—we owe you our lives!"

He smiled a little at her exaggerated manner, which would break out in spite of her real terror, and helped her to alight from the carriage.

"We are saved," moaned Elsie, lifting herself from Elizabeth's bosom. "I'm not hurt—I'm not hurt!"

She was lifted out of the carriage, and stood trembling by Mrs. Harrington. For the first time, relieved of their weight, Elizabeth was able to move and look up.

The stranger was standing by the carriage with his arm extended to assist her. She partially rose—then, and without the slightest warning, beyond a deep, shuddering breath, sank back insensible.

Elsie and Mrs. Harrington gave a simultaneous cry, but there was no opportunity for the widow to go into hysterics, as she had intended, since the stranger and the footman were fully occupied in lifting Elizabeth from the broken carriage. Elsie was crying wildly, "Bessie! Bessie!" and wringing her hands in real affright.

"She has only fainted," said the stranger hurriedly; "we will carry her on to the hotel."

He raised the insensible girl in his arms, and carried her down towards the inn, as if she had been a child; while her companions followed, sobbing off their terror as they went.

Once in the house, and the stranger out of the way, Mrs. Harrington recovered her wits sufficiently to give Elizabeth assistance, and restore her to consciousness.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, gave one glance around, and closed them again.

"Are you hurt?" cried Elsie.

She shook her head.

"What made you faint so suddenly?" demanded Mrs. Harrington. "The danger was over."

Elizabeth made a strong effort at self-control, sat upright, and tried to answer.

"I can't tell—I—"

"Do you know that gentleman?" asked Mrs. Harrington.

"Why, how can she?" said Elsie.

"Well, she fainted just as she looked at him."

Elizabeth controlled herself, found strength to rise, saying in reply to Mrs. Harrington's repeated inquiries—

"How should I know him?—what folly!"

But she was trembling so violently, that they forced her to lie down again.

"Stay with her, Elsie," said the widow, "I will go and see how we are to get home."

She went out of the room, and in the hall encountered the gentleman just as she had expected.

She overwhelmed him with protestations of gratitude, to which he listened with no great appearance of interest, though Mrs. Harrington was too completely dazzled by his brilliant appearance and manner to perceive the absent, preoccupied way in which he received her.

"I don't know how we are to get home," she said.

"Your coachman has engaged a carriage from the