."

"Not always--Lot's wife, for instance. If you keep on looking back, you
don't know what may happen to you. Come on."

Just then a vehicle rapidly driven was heard in the distance, and the
next moment it appeared in sight.

"There comes mamma now," said the girl, waving to the lady in it.

Mrs. Yorke sprang from the carriage as soon as it drew up. She was a
handsome woman of middle age and was richly dressed. She was now in a
panic of motherly solicitude.

"Oh, Alice, how you have frightened me!" she exclaimed. "You were due at
the hotel two hours ago, and when your horse came without you! You will
kill me!" She clapped her hands to her heart and panted. "You know my
heart is weak!"

Alice protested her sorrow, and Keith put in a word for her, declaring
that she had been dreadfully troubled lest the horse should
frighten her.

"And well she might be," exclaimed Mrs. Yorke, giving him a bare glance
and then turning back to her daughter. "Mrs. Nailor was the first who
heard your horse had come home. She ran and told me. And, oh, I was so
frightened! She was sure you were killed."

"You might be sure she would be the first to hear and tell you," said
the girl. "Why, mamma, one always sprains one's knee when one's horse
falls. That is part of the programme. This--gentleman happened to come
along, and helped me down to the road, and we were just discussing
whether I should go on farther when you came up. Mother, this is
Mr. Keith."

Keith bowed. He was for some reason pleased that she did not say
anything of the way in which he had brought her down the Ridge.

Mrs. Yorke turned and thanked him with graciousness, possibly with a
little condescension. He was conscious that she gave him a sweeping
glance, and was sorry his shoes were so old. But Mrs. Yorke took no
further notice of him.

"Oh, what will your father say! You know he wanted us to go to
California; but you would come South. After Mr. Wickersham told you of
his place, nothing else would satisfy you."

"Oh, papa! You know I can settle him," said the girl.

Mrs. Yorke began to lament the wretchedness of a region where there was
no doctor of reputation.

"There is a very fine surgeon in the village. Dr. Balsam is one of the
best surgeons anywhere," said Keith.

"Oh, I know that old man. No doubt, he is good enough for little common
ailments," said Mrs. Yorke, "but in a case like this! What does he know
about surgery?" She turned back to her daugh