blood still oozed.

"I--fell on my face," she explained brokenly, "near a bramble bush.
I think I have hurt my arm too." Against the increasing pallor the
scratches stood out horribly. She was on the point of collapsing again,
when Mr. Carlyle picked her up without a word, and seated her on Peter's
back. "Try to keep up," he said encouragingly; "hold on to the pummels;
I will manage Peter. And try not to think about the accident; give all
your attention to holding on; we will go to that cottage over there, and
get you some water. They have a pony-cart there, too, I will borrow it
and drive you to the Vicarage as quickly as I can. You certainly can't
walk, and you can't go all the way to Abbot's Field until you are better.
But we will take care of you, Irene. Don't cry any more, my child.
You will feel better soon, and you have very much to be thankful for."

"I know, I know!" gasped Irene. "I don't know how to be thankful enough;
we might have been killed on the spot. Oh, that lightning! It was
_awful_, perfectly awful. There seemed to be fire all round us, nothing
but fire!" She buried her face in her hands, as though to shut out the
sight. "It looked as though some awful fiery furnace had opened before
us, it was like the place of torment----"

"But God's protecting love was about you. His arm was shielding you."

"I know," said Irene softly, "and that was my only hope. I remember
saying, 'From lightning and tempest, and from sudden death, good Lord,
deliver us,' and then I think I must have fainted, for I knew nothing more
until I felt the rain on my face, and the thunder crashing overhead, and
my first thought was----" she broke off in sudden shy confusion, and
a faint flush rose to her cheeks.

"May not I know, Irene, what your first thought was, when you woke and
found yourself still in this world? was it that God had spared you yet,
that you might do more work for Him?"

"That was it!" she cried eagerly; "that was my thought--'God has not taken
me--He must have something for me to do, and--and----'"

"You mean that, God helping you, you would do it?"

Irene looked away; again the colour rushed into her pallid cheeks.

"Yes," she whispered softly, but could say no more.

"By His help, and in His Name." Mr. Carlyle's hand shook a little as he
clasped hers. "Thanks be to Him," he added, with deep feeling.
"Irene, my child, never forget this afternoon, nor the vow you have
taken."

"I wi