ve fallen, if Thorne had not caught her in his arms. The gun
slipped to the ground, but fortunately did not discharge the second
barrel.

Thorne regarded the white face upon his breast with trepidation, amazed
even amid his anxiety at the fierce pang that shot through his heart at
the sight of its pallor. Suppose she should be seriously hurt! Brute
that he had been, not to have taken better care of her. Fool! _fool_!
to have let her touch that accursed gun! His hand trembled as he
loosened her cloak, and passed it tenderly over her shoulder.
Dislocated? No; such cruel harm had not befallen her: a bruise, a
little stiffness was the worst in store. A passionate relief,
bewildering in its intensity, thrilled through him; his dark cheek
rivaled hers in pallor; his eyes glowed.

Then her lids quivered, the gray eyes unclosed, and the color flushed
back warmly, covering cheek and brow and neck with a mighty surge of
crimson. With a quick effort, Pocahontas disengaged herself from his
arms, and leaned against the fence, a few steps away from him.
Struggling for self-mastery, Thorne made his anxious inquiries,
striving by a fierce exercise of will to still his bounding pulses, and
banish from his eyes the expression he felt glowing within them. And
Pocahontas, with her paleness in force again, replied to his inquiries
with tremulous but determined lightness, putting aside his self
reproaches, and assuming the blame with eager incoherence. She made a
terrible mess of it, but Thorne was past all nicety of observation; his
only thought, now that he was assured of her safety, was to get himself
away without further betrayal of his feelings. His mind was in a
tumult, and his heart rose up and choked him. For a moment he held the
small, tremulous fingers in a strong, warm clasp, then with a quick
"good-night" relinquished them, sprang over the fence and walked
rapidly away in the direction of Shirley.

CHAPTER IX.

Walking home in the still dusk of the winter gloaming, Thorne found
himself compelled at last to look the situation in the face without
disguise or subterfuge; to "take stock" of it all, as it were, and ask
himself what should be the result. He had lingered in Virginia,
lengthening his stay from week to week, because the old world
quaintness of the people, the freshness and yet antiquity of thought
prevalent among them, charmed him, pleased the aesthetic side of his
nature, as the softness of their