t the rectory, despite Jean's air of contemptuous
dignity--"I believe Arabella Forsythe will have a chance to die, at last.
She's been looking for it these ten years, and as soon as she stops
fainting it will be a positive satisfaction to her. I'm afraid she is
really a very sick woman."

But no such thought did she impart to Lois, when she tucked her up in
bed, giving her a hearty kiss with her soothing draught, and bidding her
have some sense and stop crying, for Mrs. Forsythe would be all right in
the morning. But the morning brought no comfort; the doctor, who had come
from Mercer as quickly as Mrs. Dale's horses could bring him, was very
grave.

"The shock to the nervous system," he said,--"we cannot tell what it will
do."

Lois was so prostrated by grief at Mrs. Forsythe's condition, no one
dared tell her that Mr. Denner was the immediate anxiety. There was an
injury to the spine, and the plunging hoofs had done more harm than was
at first supposed; things looked very serious for the little gentleman.

The lawyer had fainted when he was lifted over his gloomy threshold,
where Mary stood waiting and wringing her hands, and had struggled back
to consciousness to find himself on the big, slippery horse-hair sofa, in
his dusky library. Dr. Howe was standing at his side, looking anxiously
down at him, and a neighbor was trying to slip a pillow under his head.
Gifford had gone to help Mary bring a bed down-stairs, for the slightest
movement caused Mr. Denner pain, and they dared not lift him, even to
take him up to his bedroom.

"What is the matter?" Mr. Denner tried to say. "I seem to be giving
trouble. Ah--pray do not mind me, doctor."

"You were hurt, you know, Denner," said the rector, whose feet were
planted wide apart, and his hands thrust down in his pockets, and who
felt oppressed by the consciousness of his own superabundant vitality,
for the lawyer looked so small and thin, and his voice was hardly more
than a whisper. "You've been a little faint. You'll be all right soon.
But Giff's going to put a bed up in here for you, because you might find
it uncomfortable to try to get up-stairs, you know."

Mr. Denner looked anxious at this; he wondered if Mary would not be
offended; but he was too strangely weary to talk, and his little
twinkling eyes were dim and blurred.

Gifford and Mary had carried down the four big posts of Mr. Denner's bed,
which looked like mahogany obelisks, and began to put it togethe