herself; and it was the thought of this
last ownership that drove her to despair.

Sweet and plaintive as the child's face was, it had a glimmer of
wildness and a hunted look, that baffled Aunt Jane a little, and
compelled her to temporize. She consented that Emilia should go to
her own house, on condition that she would not see Philip,--which was
readily and even eagerly promised,--and that Hope should spend the night
with Emilia, which proposal was ardently accepted.

It occurred to Aunt Jane that nothing better could happen than for John
Lambert, on returning, to find his wife at home; and to secure this
result, if possible, she telegraphed to him to come at once.

Meantime Hope gave her inevitable music-lesson, so absorbed in her own
thoughts that it was all as mechanical as the metronome. As she came
out upon the Avenue for the walk home, she saw a group of people from
a gardener's house, who had collected beside a muddy crossing, where a
team of cart-horses had refused to stir. Presently they sprang forward
with a great jerk, and a little Irish child was thrown beneath the
wheel. Hope sprang forward to grasp the child, and the wheel struck
her also; but she escaped with a dress torn and smeared, while the
cart passed over the little girl's arm, breaking it in two places. She
screamed and then grew faint, as Hope lifted her. The mother received
the burden with a wail of anguish; the other Irishwomen pressed around
her with the dense and suffocating sympathy of their nation. Hope bade
one and another run for a physician, but nobody stirred. There was no
surgical aid within a mile or more. Hope looked round in despair, then
glanced at her own disordered garments.

"As sure as you live!" shouted a well-known voice from a carriage which
had stopped behind them. "If that isn't Hope what's-her-name, wish I may
never! Here's a lark! Let me come there!" And the speaker pushed through
the crowd.

"Miss Ingleside," said Hope, decisively, "this child's arm is broken.
There is nobody to go for a physician. Except for the condition I am
in, I would ask you to take me there at once in your carriage; but as it
is--"

"As it is, I must ask you, hey?" said Blanche, finishing the sentence.
"Of course. No mistake. Sans dire. Jones, junior, this lady will join
us. Don't look so scared, man. Are you anxious about your cushions or
your reputation?"

The youth simpered and disclaimed.

"Jump in, then, Miss Maxwell. Never mind