LITMIR.BIZ

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later on that morning, was to go into Norcester also; so Stephen with a lonely day before her set herself to take up loose-ends of all sorts of little personal matters. They would all meet at dinner as Rowly was to stop the night at Normanstand.

      Harold left the club in good time to ride home to dinner. As he passed the County Hotel he stopped to ask if Squire Norman had left; and was told that he had started only a short time before with Squire Rowly in his T-cart. He rode on fast, thinking that perhaps he might overtake them and ride on with them. But the bays knew their work, and did it. They kept their start; it was only at the top of the North hill, five miles out of Norcester, that he saw them in the distance, flying along the level road. He knew he would not now overtake them, and so rode on somewhat more leisurely.

      The Norcester highroad, when it has passed the village of Brackling, turns away to the right behind the great clump of oaks. From this the road twists to the left again, making a double curve, and then runs to Norling Parva in a clear stretch of some miles before reaching the sharp turn down the hill which is marked ‘Dangerous to Cyclists.. From the latter village branches the by-road over the hill which is the short cut to Normanstand.

      When Harold turned the corner under the shadow of the oaks he saw a belated road-mender, surrounded by some gaping peasants, pointing excitedly in the distance. The man, who of course knew him, called to him to stop.

      ‘What is it?’ he asked, reining up.

      ‘It be Squire Rowly’s bays which have run away with him. Three on ’em, all in a row and comin’ like the wind. Squire he had his reins all right, but they ’osses didn’t seem to mind ’un. They was fair mad and bolted. The leader he had got frightened at the heap o’ stones theer, an’ the others took scare from him.’

      Without a word Harold shook his reins and touched the horse with his whip. The animal seemed to understand and sprang forward, covering the ground at a terrific pace. Harold was not given to alarms, but here might be serious danger. Three spirited horses in a light cart made for pace, all bolting in fright, might end any moment in calamity. Never in his life did he ride faster than on the road to Norling Parva. Far ahead of him he could see at the turn, now and again, a figure running. Something had happened. His heart grew cold: he knew as well as though he had seen it, the high cart swaying on one wheel round the corner as the maddened horses tore on their way; the one jerk too much, and the momentary reaction in the crash! . . .

      With beating heart and eyes aflame in his white face he dashed on.

      It was all too true. By the side of the roadway on the inner curve lay the cart on its side with broken shafts. The horses were prancing and stamping about along the roadway not recovered from their fright. Each was held by several men.

      And on the grass two figures were still lying where they had been thrown out. Rowly, who had of course been on the off-side, had been thrown furthest. His head had struck the milestone that stood back on the waste ground before the ditch. There was no need for any one to tell that his neck had been broken. The way his head lay on one side, and the twisted, inert limbs, all told their story plainly enough.

      Squire Norman lay on his back stretched out. Some one had raised him to a sitting posture and then lowered him again, straightening his limbs. He did not therefore look so dreadful as Rowly, but there were signs of coming death in the stertorous breathing, the ooze of blood from nostrils and ears as well as mouth. Harold knelt down by him at once and examined him. Those who were round all knew him and stood back. He felt the ribs and limbs; so far as he could ascertain by touch no bone was broken.

      Just then the local doctor, for whom some one had run, arrived in his gig. He, too, knelt beside the injured man, a quick glance having satisfied him that there was only one patient requiring his care. Harold stood up and waited. The doctor looked up, shaking his head. Harold could hardly suppress the groan which was rising in his throat. He asked:

      ‘Is it immediate. Should his daughter be brought here?’

      ‘How long would it take her to arrive?’

      ‘Perhaps half an hour; she would not lose an instant.’

      ‘Then you had better send for her.’

      ‘I shall go at once!’ answered Harold, turning to jump on his horse, which was held on the road.

      ‘No, no!’ said the doctor, ‘send some one else. You had better stay here yourself. He may become conscious just before the end; and he may want to say something!. It seemed to Harold that a great bell was sounding in his ears.—‘Before the end. Good God. Poor Stephen!’ . . . But this was no time for sorrow, or for thinking of it. That would come later. All that was possible must be done; and to do it required a cool head. He called to one of the lads he knew could ride and said to him:

      ‘Get on my horse and ride as fast as you can to Normanstand. Send at once to Miss Norman and tell her that she is wanted instantly. Tell her that there has been an accident; that her father is alive, but that she must come at once without a moment’s delay. She had better ride my horse back as it will save time. She will understand from that the importance of time. Quick!’

      The lad sprang to the saddle, and was off in a flash. Whilst Harold was speaking, the doctor had told the men, who, accustomed to hunting accidents, had taken a gate from its hinges and held it in readiness, to bring it closer. Then under his direction the Squire was placed on the gate. The nearest house was only about a hundred yards away; and thither they bore him. He was lifted on a bed, and then the doctor made fuller examination. When he stood up he looked very grave and said to Harold:

      ‘I greatly fear she cannot arrive in time. That bleeding from the ears means rupture of the brain. It is relieving the pressure, however, and he may recover consciousness before he dies. You had better be close to him. There is at present nothing that can be done. If he becomes conscious at all it will be suddenly. He will relapse and probably die as quickly.’

      All at once Norman opened his eyes, and seeing him said quietly, as he looked around:

      ‘What place is this, Harold?’

      ‘Martin’s—James Martin’s, sir. You were brought here after the accident.’

      ‘Yes, I remember. Am I badly hurt. I can feel nothing!’

      ‘I fear so, sir. I have sent for Stephen.’

      ‘Sent for Stephen. Am I about to die?. His voice, though feeble, was grave and even.

      ‘Alas! sir, I fear so!. He sank on his knees as he spoke and took him, his second father, in his arms.

      ‘Is it close?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then listen to me. If I don’t see Stephen, give her my love and blessing. Say that with my last breath I prayed God to keep her and make her happy. You will tell her this?’

      ‘I will. I will!. He could hardly speak for the emotion which was choking him. Then the voice went on, but slower and weaker:

      ‘And Harold, my dear boy, you will look after her, will you not. Guard her and cherish her, as if you were indeed my son and she your sister!’

      ‘I will. So help me God!. There was a pause of a few seconds which seemed an interminable time. Then in a feebler voice Squire Norman spoke again:

      ‘And Harold—bend down—I must whisper. If it should be that in time you and Stephen should find that there is another affection between you, remember that I sanction it—with my dying breath. But give her time. I trust that to you. She is young, and the world is all before her. Let her choose . . . and be loyal to her if it is another. It may be a hard task, but I trust you, Harold. God bless you, my other son!. He rose slightly and listened. Harold’s heart leaped. The swift hoof-strokes of a galloping horse were heard . . . The father spoke joyously:

      ‘There she is. That is my brave girl. God grant that she may be in time. I know what it will mean to her hereafter!’

      The horse stopped suddenly.

      A quick

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