f place in this
narrative, for it is all true, exactly and literally, only the detailed
horrors of it no pen can describe, no words can tell.

Mr. Hardy woke about eight o'clock, rested, but feeling very lame and
sore from his exertions of the night. His first thought was of Clara.
When he went to sleep the girl seemed to be resting without pain, but
that strange mark across her face made them all anxious. It was not a
bruise, but it lay like a brand across the eyes, which had not opened
since her father found her lying by the frozen stream.

James had insisted on staying in the house to be of service, and Mrs.
Hardy had felt grateful for his presence as she watched for returning
consciousness from Clara, who still gave no more sign of animation,
although she breathed easily and seemed to be free from pain. Every
doctor and surgeon in town had been summoned to the scene of the
accident. But Mr. Hardy felt so anxious for Clara as he came in and
looked at her that he went downstairs and asked James if he wouldn't
run out and see if any of the doctors had returned.

"Yes, sir; I'll go at once. How is she now, Mr. Hardy?" James looked
him in the face with the look that love wears when it is true and brave.

"My boy," replied Mr. Hardy, laying his hand on James' shoulder, "I
don't know. There is something strange about it. Get a doctor if you
can. But I know there must be many other sad homes today in Barton.
Oh, it was horrible!"

He sat down and covered his face, while James, with a brief "God help
us, sir!" went out in search of a doctor.

Mr. Hardy went upstairs again, and with his wife kneeled down and
offered a prayer of thanksgiving and of appeal. "O Lord," said Robert,
"grant that this dear one of ours may be restored to us again. Spare
us this anguish, not in return for our goodness, but out of Thy great
compassion for our sins repented of!"

Will and Bess lay in the next room, and now that the reaction had set
in they were sleeping, Will, feverish and restless, Bess quite
peaceful, as if nothing had happened out of the usual order of things.

"Where is George?" asked Mr. Hardy as he rose from his prayer.

"I don't know, Robert. He started down to the train a little while
after you did. Haven't you seen him?"

"No, Mary. God grant that he may not"--Mr. Hardy did not dare finish
his thought aloud.

His wife guessed it, and together the two sat hand in hand, drawn very
near by their mutual t