rmidable teeth above water. For a while
she was able to hold on. Then, with a sickening sense of helplessness,
she felt herself torn from him, and whirled away like a leaf. The rank
smell of the muddy water was in her nostrils, the fear of death in her
heart. She struggled to keep afloat. Suddenly a blood-streaked face
appeared, and Blake, bleeding from a cut on the forehead, caught her
with a strong grip and drew her to him. A few more seconds of whirling
chaos, and she felt land under her feet, and Blake half-carrying her to
the bank. They had been swept on to one of the many sand-banks which ran
out into the stream, and were safe.

Half-hysterical, she sat down on a huge log, and waited while Blake ran
up-stream to give help to the coachman. While the two had been battling
in the water, the priest had stayed with the coachman to cut the horses
free, till at last all four got clear of the wreck, and swam ashore.
Then the men followed them, drifting down the current and fighting their
way to shore at about the same place.

Hugh Gordon drove the waggonette down to pick up the party when they
landed. The scene on the bank would have made a good picture. The
horses, dripping with water and shaking with cold, were snorting and
staring, while the coachman was trying to fix up some gear out of the
wreck, so that he could ride one of them. The priest, his broad Irish
face ornamented by a black clay pipe, was tramping up and down in his
wet clothes. Blake was helping Miss Grant to wring the water out of her
clothes, and she was somewhat incoherently trying to thank him. As Hugh
drove up, Blake looked up and caught his eye, and there flashed between
the two men an unmistakable look of hostility. Then Hugh jumped from the
waggonette, and walked up to Miss Grant, holding out his hand.

"I'm Hugh Gordon," he said. "We only got your father's letter to-day, or
I would have been down to meet you. I hope you are not hurt. Jump into
the trap, and I'll run down to the Donohoes', and get you some dry
things." Then, turning to Blake, he said somewhat stiffly, "Will you get
in, Mr. Blake?"

"Thanks," said Blake, equally stiffly, "I can ride one of the mail
horses. It's no distance. I wont trouble you."

But the girl turned and put her hand into Blake's, and spoke with the
air of a queen.

"I am very much obliged to you--more than I can tell you. You have saved
my life. If ever I can do anything to repay you I will."

"Oh, nonsense,