ugh died out on his lips in an instant; he
looked at her with a gaze half-frightened, half-defiant, and drew closer
to the lady's side.

"What is the matter, dear?" they heard her ask.

Before he could reply, before any one could speak again, a terrible
thing happened. The horses began to plunge violently, and then, as the
drowsy coachman woke with a start, they set off at a mad pace in spite
of all his efforts to control them. Down the lane they went at a wild
gallop, their thundering hoofs raising a cloud of dust, and the three
horror-stricken women caught a swift glimpse of the lady and the child
clinging to each other in a despairing embrace.

Scarcely knowing what she was doing, Elsie began to run after the flying
carriage at the top of her speed; Mrs. Penn followed her at a slower
pace, and poor Mrs. Beaton came panting behind.

Miss Kilner was slight of figure and light of foot, and eagerness seemed
to lend her wings. She was still getting over the ground at a rapid
rate, when she saw the dust-cloud vanish, and perceived that the
carriage had come to a stand-still. Was the danger, then, over? Her
heart gave a throb of passionate thankfulness as she pressed on, longing
to assure herself that Jamie was safe, and to hold him, for one brief
moment even, in her arms.

One or two watermen had come up and gathered round the panting horses.
The coachman, white and shaky, was talking and gesticulating; his
mistress, looking very fair in her faintness, had been helped out of the
carriage by a tall man with a brown face.

Elsie, as she came up breathless to this group, took in two facts at
once. Jamie was safe and unhurt, and the brown-faced man was Mr.
Lennard's friend Ronald. He looked every inch a knight, as he stood
there in his suit of fresh, white flannels, his bronzed face with a
summer glow in it, and the dark hair cropped close to his head. The
lady, in a silvery voice that faltered once or twice, was pouring out
her thanks. Elsie comprehended it all in a moment; it was Ronald who had
stopped the horses, and saved, perhaps, two lives.

"I cannot trust them again," the lady said, glancing at the handsome
chestnuts with a shudder. "We had better go home in the train."

The boy was holding her hand, and pressing close to the folds of her
dainty gown. Elsie came up to them, very pale, with a light in her eyes.
Her glance rested on the little lad, and she stretched out her hand to
him with an impulsive gesture.