ut the closed carriage seemed bent upon some
definite enough errand, turning corners, galloping up this street and
across that. He tried to make the fellow hear him, but above the
rattling noise this was impossible. There seemed to be nothing to do
but to lie there until the end of the journey, wherever that might
be.

* * * * *

He lay back and tried to delve into the past. The first connecting
link seemed years ago,--he was running away from something, her hand
within his. The girl--yes, he remembered now, but still very
indistinctly. But soon with a great influx of joy he recalled that
moment at the door when he had realized what she meant to him, then
the blind pounding at the door, then the run upstairs and--this.

He struggled to his elbow. He must get back to her. How had he come
here? Where was he being taken? He was not able to think very clearly
and so found it difficult to devise any plan of action, but the
necessity drove him on as it had in the face of the locked door. He
must stop the carriage and--but even as he was exerting himself in a
struggle to make himself heard, the horses slowed down, turned sharply
and trotted up a driveway to the entrance of a large stone building.
Some sort of an attendant came out, exchanged a few words with the
driver, and then, opening the door, looked in. He reached out his hand
and groped for Wilson's pulse.

"Where am I?" asked Wilson.

"That's all right, old man," replied the attendant in the paternal
tone of those in lesser official positions. "Able to walk, or shall I
get a stretcher?"

"Walk? Of course I can walk. What I want to know is----"

But already the strong arms were beneath his shoulders and half
lifting him from the seat.

"Slowly. Slowly now."

Wilson found himself in a corridor strong with the fumes of ether and
carbolic acid.

"See here," he expostulated, "I didn't want to come here. I----where's
the driver?"

"He went off as soon as you got out."

"But where----"

"Come on. This is the City Hospital and you're hurt. The quicker you
get that scalp of yours sewed up the better."

For a few steps Wilson walked along submissively, his brain still
confused. The thought of her came once again, and he struggled free
from the detaining arm and turned upon the attendant who was leading
him to the accident room.

"I'm going back," he declared. "This is some conspiracy against the
girl. I'll find out w