llow flame of the lantern was burning white in the dawn, as,
holding back against the weight of the wagon--the palms of her bleeding
hands clenched on the shafts, her feet slipping, her ankles twisted and
wrenched--by and by, with the tears of physical suffering streaming down
her face, she reached the foot of the mountain. The, thin, cool air of
morning flowed about her in crystalline stillness; suddenly the sun
tipped the green bowl of the world, and all at once shadows fell across
the road like bars. They seemed to her, in her daze of terror and
exhaustion, insurmountable: the road was level now, but she pulled and
pulled, agonizingly, over those bars of nothingness; then one wheel sank
into a rut, and the wagon came to a dead standstill; but at the same
moment she saw ahead of her, among the trees, Doctor Bennett's dark,
sleeping house. So, dropping the shafts, she went stumbling and running,
to pound on the door, and gasp out:

"Come--help--Maurice--come--"

* * * * *

"I think," she said afterward, lying like a broken thing upon her bed,
"I was able to do it, because I kept saying, 'I must save Maurice.' Of
course, to save Maurice, I wouldn't mind dying."

"My dear, you are magnificent!" Mary Houghton said, huskily. Then she
told her husband: "Henry, I _like_ her! I never thought I would, but I
do."

"I'll never say 'Mr. F.'s aunt' again!" he promised, with real
contrition.

It was Eleanor's conquering moment, for everybody liked her, and
everybody said she was 'magnificent'--except Maurice, who, as he got
well, said almost nothing.

"I can't talk about it," was all he had to say, choking. "She's given
her life for mine," he told the doctor.

"I hope not," Doctor Bennett said, "I _hope_ not. But it will take
months, Maurice, for her to get over this. As for saving your life, my
boy, she didn't. She made things a lot more dangerous for you. She did
the wrong thing--with greatness! You'd have come to, after a while. But
don't tell her so."

"Well, I should say not!" Maurice said, hotly. "She'll never know
_that_! And anyway, sir, I don't believe it. I believe she saved my
life."

"Well, suit yourself," the doctor said, good-naturedly; "but I tell
you one thing: whether she saved your life or not, she did a really
wonderful thing--considering her temperament."

Maurice frowned: "I don't think her temperament makes any difference. It
would have been wonderful for anybody."