n's face. She had recognized me with
her look of sweet trustfulness; it froze to mortal horror. She clasped
the child. I saw his cap come off from his yellow curls, and one
little hand tossed out as the landau went over. The mare, now mad as
any maniac, ran on.

Something had broken, but it mattered little what. I think we turned a
corner. I think she struck a lamp-post or a tree. At all events, the
buggy went over; and, scooped into the top, and dragged, and blinded,
and stunned, I came to the ground.

As I went down, I uttered the two words of all that are human, most
solemn; perhaps, one may add, most automatic. Believer or sceptic,
saint or sinner, mortal danger hurls them from us, as it wrests the
soul from out our bodies.

I said, "_My God!_" precisely as I threw out my arms, to catch at
whatever could hold me when I could no longer hold myself.

CHAPTER V.

How long I had lain stunned upon the pavement I had no means of
knowing; I thought not long. I was surprised, on coming to myself, to
find that my injuries were not more severe.

My head felt uncomfortable, and I had a certain numbness or stiffness,
as one does from the first trial of long-disused limbs. I had always
limped a trifle since that accident beside the trout-brook; and, as I
staggered to my feet, I thought:--

"This will play the mischief with that old injury. I shouldn't wonder
if it came to crutches."

On the contrary, when I had walked some dozen steps I found that an
interesting thing had happened. The shock had dispersed the limp.

It was with a perfectly even and natural gait, although, as I say,
rather a weak one, that I trod the pavement to try what manner of man
the runaway had left me. I said:--

"It is one of those cases of nervous rearrangement. The shock has
acted like a battery upon the nerve-centres. Instead of a broken neck,
I have a cured leg. I'm a lucky fellow."

Having already, however, considered myself a lucky fellow for the
greater part of my life, this conclusion did not impress me with the
force which it might some other men; and, laughing lightly, as lucky
people do, at fortune, I turned to examine the condition of my horse
and carriage.

Donna was not to be seen. She had broken the traces, the breeching,
the shafts, everything, in short, she could, and cleared herself. I
had been unconscious long enough to give her time to make herself
invisible, and she had made the most of it; in w