de her with two or
three of the men employed on the estate.

"Oh, papa, he has died for me!" she cried, hot tears streaming down
her face.

"No, he is not dead, daughter," her father said in tender tones. "But
we will never forget the service he has done us this day."

"No, sah, Mars Chess's alive, sho 'nuff," said one of the men; "an'
we'll git Doctah Arthur or Doctah Harold or Herbert here, and dey'll
cure him up, sho's a gun."

"Yes; go after one of them as fast as you can. Catch Mr. Chester's
horse and ride him; then take him to The Oaks and leave him there. Mr.
Chester must be carried carefully into Woodburn and nursed there--as
long as he needs it. Well, is that fellow living or dead?" he asked
of one of the men who had climbed the fence and was stooping over the
prostrate form of the convict.

"Dead, cap'ain; dead as anything. He won' do no mo' mischief in dis
worl'."

"Poor wretch!" sighed the captain. Then he gave directions to the men
to go to the house and bring from there a cot-bed on which they could
carry the wounded man without increasing his suffering by unnecessary
jolts and jars.

All this time Lucilla was standing by her father's side, trembling and
weeping.

"Oh, papa, I'm afraid he has given his life for mine," she sobbed.

"I hope not, dear child," he said; "he is living, and I hope his wound
will not prove mortal. In saving my daughter's life he has done me a
service that I can never repay, and I hope it is not to cost him his
own life."

At that moment Chester's eyes opened, and Lucilla never forgot the
look of joy and love that he gave her.

"Thank God, you are alive and unhurt," he said, in a low tone and
gasping for breath.

"But, oh, Chester, you are so terribly injured," she sobbed. "I am
afraid you are suffering very much."

"Don't weep. I can bear it," he said.

"My dear fellow, don't try to talk any more now," said the captain. "I
have sent for one or more of our doctors, and here come my men with a
cot-bed to carry you to Woodburn, where you must stay until you are
entirely well."

"You are most kind, captain," murmured the half-fainting young man,
"but----"

"No, no; don't try to talk. I can never repay you for saving my
child," the captain said with emotion.

Chester's only reply was a look at Lucilla that seemed to say that
nothing could be too costly if done for her.

"And, oh, what a debt of gratitude I owe you!" she exclaimed. "I can
never repay it."

"