a uttered a low cry--but that was not all.

His horse had flung him at the feet of a very Juggernaut, a mighty
wagon piled with wool bales nearly as high as a house. One of the
leaders had backed on his haunches at the unexpected obstacle; but the
other, a foolish young horse, reared, and in another moment would
certainly have trodden out the brains of the insensible man, had not a
youth--a mere boy--suddenly rushed from the crowded footpath and
thrown himself full against the terrified animal, so for one brief
instant retarding the movement of the huge wagon while Mr. Huntingdon
was dragged aside.

It had all happened in a moment; the next moment the horses were
plunging and rearing, with the driver swearing at them, and the young
man had sunk on a truck white as death, and faint from the pain of his
sprained arm and shoulder.

"Who is he?" cried Nea, impetuously, "what have they done with him?"

He was in the library, the butler informed her. The doctor had
promised to dress his shoulder after he had attended to Mr.
Huntingdon. No, his mistress need not go down, Wilson went on; it was
only Mr. Trafford, one of the junior clerks. Only a junior clerk! Nea
flashed an indignant look as Wilson spoke. What if he were the city
messenger; her father should make his fortune, and she would go and
thank him. But there was no time for this, for the same grave-looking
doctor who had closed her father's door against her was now standing
on the threshold; and Nea forgot everything in her gratitude and joy
as he told her that, though severely injured, Mr. Huntingdon was in no
danger, and with quiet and rest, and good nursing, he would soon be
himself again. It would all depend on her, he added, looking at the
agitated girl in a fatherly manner; and he bade her dry her eyes and
look as cheerful as she could that she might not disturb Mr.
Huntingdon. Nea obeyed him; she choked down her sobs resolutely, and
with a strange paleness on her young face, stole into the darkened
room and stood beside him.

"Well, Nea," observed her father, huskily, as she took his hand and
kissed it; "I have had a narrow escape; another instant and it would
have been all over with me. Is Wilson there?"

"Yes, papa," answered Nea, still holding his hand to her cheek, as she
knelt beside him; and the gray-haired butler stepped up to the bed.

"Wilson, let Stephenson know that he is to get rid of Gypsy at once.
She has been a bad bargain to me, and this