sense of seeing the gray figure
thrown out upon the ground just as he found himself falling backwards.
Then he lost consciousness.

When he came to himself, and saw the trees and bushes dance strangely
about him for a moment, he found that he had been lifted over to the
grass at the roadside, and that Gifford Woodhouse's arm was under his
head. As his eyes grew steady, he saw that two men were holding the
trembling, steaming horse, and that a little group of people were
standing about the phaeton; but the gray figure had disappeared.
Gifford was fanning him, and pressing something to his lips with a
gentle, anxious hand.

"Gifford," he said faintly--"ah--which?"

"They are neither of them hurt, thank God," answered the young man
reverently, "but they owe their lives to you, Mr. Denner."

"Yes--but"--he struggled to say--"which--which was it?"

"He means who was it," said the rector, who had taken his place on
the other side of the injured man. "It was my daughter--God bless you,
Denner!--and Mrs. Forsythe."

Mr. Denner groaned, and shut his eyes. "Oh, it wasn't either," he
murmured; "that's always the way!"

"His mind is wandering," Gifford said, in a low voice. "I'm afraid this
is very serious, doctor. Do you think he can be moved now?"

The lawyer did not try to prove his sanity; he only groaned again, but
this time it was partly from pain. They lifted him gently, and carried
him into his own house, which he had nearly reached when the runaway
overtook him.

Both the women in the carriage had been thrown out, but Lois was able to
walk, and so far as could be ascertained Mrs. Forsythe was unhurt, save
for the shock, which sent her from one fainting fit into another until
late that night. They had carried her back to the rectory, Lois clinging
to one limp hand, and crying hysterically.

"Oh, she will die," she sobbed, "I know she will die; and it is my fault,
it is my carelessness! You needn't say it isn't, father. I know it is!
Oh, what shall I do!"

But there was nothing to do; and Mrs. Dale, who had been hastily
summoned,--for her reputation for nursing was even wider than Miss
Deborah's for housekeeping,--only put her to bed, "to get her out of the
way," she said, but really because she was filled with sympathy for her
niece's remorse, and felt that the forgetfulness of sleep was the only
comfort for her.

"I'll tell you what it is, brother," she said,--she had quietly settled
herself in authority a