cycle.

"He's riding out of sight!" thought Shuey, in the rear. He himself did
not slacken his speed, although he could not be in time for the
catastrophe. Suddenly he stiffened; Winslow was close to the runaway
wheel.

"Grab her!" yelled Shuey. "Grab her by the belt! _Oh, Lord!_"

The exclamation exploded like the groan of a shell. For while Winslow's
bicycling was all that could be wished, and he flung himself in the path
of the on-coming wheel with marvelous celerity and precision, he had not
the power to withstand the never yet revealed number of pounds carried
by Miss Lorania, impelled by the rapid descent and gathering momentum at
every whirl. They met; he caught her; but instantly he was rolling down
the steep incline and she was doubled up on the grass. He crashed
sickeningly against the stone wall; she lay stunned and still on the
sod; and their friends, with beating hearts, slid down to them. Mrs.
Winslow was on the brow of the hill. She blesses Shuey to this day for
the shout he sent up, "Nobody killed, and I guess no bones broken."

* * * * *

When Margaret went home that evening, having seen her friend safely in
bed, not much the worse for her fall, she was told that Cardigan wished
to see her. Shuey produced something from his pocket, saying: "I picked
this up on the hill, ma'am, after the accident. It maybe belongs to him,
or it maybe belongs to her; I'm thinking the safest way is to just give
it to you." He handed Mrs. Ellis a tiny gold-framed miniature of Lorania
in a red leather case.

* * * * *

The morning was a sparkling June morning, dewy and fragrant, and the
sunlight burnished the handles and pedals of the friends' bicycles
standing on the piazza unheeded. It was the hour for morning practice,
but Miss Hopkins slept in her chamber, and Mrs. Ellis sat in the little
parlor adjoining, and thought.

She did not look surprised at the maid's announcement that Mrs. Winslow
begged to see her for a few moments. Mrs. Winslow was pale. She was a
good sketch of discomfort on the very edge of her chair, clad in the
black silk which she wore Sundays, her head crowned with her bonnet of
state, and her hands stiff in a pair of new gloves.

"I hope you'll excuse me not sending up a card," she began. "Cyril got
me some going on a year ago, and I _thought_ I could lay my hand right
on 'em, but I'm so nervous this morning I hunted all over, and