features, and he set down his charge hastily almost roughly, in a place of security.

Eugénie still trembled slightly, and she drew a long breath of relief, but there was no other sign of the terrible alarm she must have undergone.

"I--I thank you. Pray look to Herr Berkow!"

Ulric, already turning to leave her, stopped with a shock of surprise. "Look to Herr Berkow," the young wife had said, at a time when most women would have called in anguish on their husband's name, and she had said it quite coolly and quietly. A dim notion of that which the gentlemen on the terrace had so freely discussed, dawned on the young man as he turned and went to look after "Herr Berkow."

This time there was, however, no need of his assistance. Arthur Berkow had got out of the carriage and crossed the bridge alone. The passive indifference of his nature had not belied itself during this critical time. When the danger had come upon them so unexpectedly, and his wife moved, as if about to spring out, he had laid his hand on her arm, and said in a low tone:

"Sit still, Eugénie; you are lost if you attempt to jump."

Then no further word was spoken. While Eugénie stood erect in the carriage, looking out for help, and resolved, at the last moment, to risk a spring, Arthur remained motionless in his place; as they neared the bridge, he just passed his hand over his eyes, and he would probably have allowed himself to be dashed to pieces with the carriage, if assistance had not been forthcoming at that decisive moment.

He now stood near the parapet of the bridge, perhaps a thought paler than usual, but perfectly steady, and without a trace of emotion; whether he had felt none, or whether he had already mastered it, Ulric was forced to confess to himself that such equanimity was, at least, something out of the common. The young heir had a moment ago looked Death full in the face, and now he stood, calmly scrutinising, as some curious phenomenon, the man whose energy had rescued him from mortal peril.

That help, which was no longer needed, poured in now on all sides. Twenty hands were busy raising the horses and helping down the coachman, still half stupefied with fright. The entire swarm of officials pressed round the young couple, giving utterance to their regrets, their sympathy, their profound sorrow. They fairly exhausted themselves with questions and offers of assistance, wondering how the accident could possibly have happened, ascribing it alternately to the report of the guns, to the driver and to the horses. Arthur stood a few minutes passive, and let the stream flow over him. Then he stayed it with a gesture.

"Enough, gentlemen, pray! You see we are both unhurt. Let us now go on to the house."

He offered his arm to his wife to lead her away, but Eugénie stood still and looked around.

"And our deliverer? I hope he has not been injured?"

"Ah yes, true!" said the Director, somewhat ashamed. "We had nearly forgotten that. It was Hartmann who stopped the horses. Hartmann, where are you?"

There was no answer to his call, but Wilberg, who, in his admiration for the romantic deed, quite forgot his old grudge against the doer, cried eagerly:

"He is standing out there yonder!" and rushed across to the young miner.

When the gentlemen had hastened up, Ulric had at once retreated, and he was now standing with his back turned to them, and leaning against a tree.

"Hartmann, you must come.... Good heavens! what is the matter with you? Where does all this blood come from?"

Ulric was visibly struggling against an attack of faintness, yet his face flushed angrily as the other made an attempt to support him. Indignant that he should be thought capable of such weakness, he raised himself hastily, and pressed his clenched hand still more firmly to his bleeding forehead.

"It is nothing--nothing but a scratch. If I had only a handkerchief!"

Wilberg was about to produce his, when suddenly a silk dress rustled close by him. Young Lady Berkow stood by his side, and, without speaking, held out her own little one, trimmed with costly lace.

The Baroness Windeg could never have been called upon to offer practical help to a wounded man, or she would have said to herself that this tiny embroidered morsel of cambric was ill-qualified to stanch such a stream of blood as now poured forth, the thick masses of light hair having, for a time, impeded the flow. Ulric must have known better how useless it was, yet he stretched out his hand for the proffered help.

"Thanks, my lady, but that will not serve us much," said the Manager, who had come up, and now laid his arm round his son's shoulder. "Keep still, Ulric!" and he drew out his own strong linen handkerchief, and applied it to what appeared to be a deep wound in the head.

"Is it dangerous?" languidly asked Arthur Berkow, coming over to the spot accompanied by the other gentlemen.

With one push Ulric freed himself from his father, and he stood erect, his blue eyes gleaming more darkly than ever, as he answered roughly:

"Not in the least. Nobody need trouble themselves about it, I can take care of myself."

The words had a disrespectful sound, but the recent service he had rendered was too great for any one to find fault with them. Herr Berkow seemed relieved that the answer spared him any further trouble about the business.

"I will send the doctor to him," said he, in his quiet indifferent way, "and we will reserve our thanks for another time. At present, there seems to be assistance enough. Will you not come, Eugénie?"

His wife took the arm he offered her, but she turned her head once again, as if to assure herself that the required succour was really there. It seemed as though she did not quite approve of the way her husband treated the matter.

"Our whole reception is a failure!" said Wilberg to the chief-engineer a few minutes later, as, quite dispirited, he joined the others in escorting the proprietor's son and his bride to the house.

"And your poem into the bargain!" joked the person addressed. "Who can think now of flowers and verses? Really, for any one who believes in omens, this first home-coming can hardly be called promising. Deadly peril, wounds and bloodshed! there is something romantic in it, just in your style, Wilberg. You should write a ballad about it, only this time you would have no choice but to take Hartmann for your hero."

"And what a bear he is after all!" said Wilberg excitedly. "Might he not have said a word of thanks to Lady Berkow when she offered him her own handkerchief? And then he replied to Herr Arthur in such an ill-mannered way. But the fellow has the strength of a giant! when I asked him why, for goodness sake, he had not put a bandage on sooner, he answered curtly that he had not noticed the wound at first. What do you say to that? He gets a blow on the head which would have stretched one of us senseless, and he first tames the horses, carries the lady away from the carriage, and only awakes to the fact that he is wounded when the blood rushes down in a stream. I should like to see any one else who could do it!"

The miners had gathered round their comrade in the meantime, and much dissatisfaction was expressed among them at the way their future master had behaved to him. It seemed to give them great offence that he should have, for the time being at least, eluded all expression of gratitude. Many dark looks, many cutting remarks passed; even the Manager wrinkled his brow, and, for a wonder, uttered no word in Arthur's defence.