e sat in erect, straight-backed fashion, her right
hand lying on her knee, the fingers of the left rubbing softly up the
arm, serenely oblivious of his presence. Guest cleared his throat once,
cleared it again, cleared it a third time, but the words would not come.
They passed through the lodge-gates and drew up before The Holt, where
the groom stood ready to assist Cornelia to alight. Before Guest could
throw down the reins she had jumped to the ground, and was standing
facing him on the curb. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun fell on
her as she stood, a slim white slip of a girl whom he could lift with
one hand--a spirit as of tempered steel, which might bend, but never
break.

"I thank you for your courtesy!" said Cornelia, clearly, as she inclined
her head towards him in formal, old-world fashion.

Captain Guest watched her progress up the narrow path, biting hard at
his lower lip. Courtesy! The word stung. The big man felt uncommonly
small as he turned his horse and drove slowly home.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

At the first shock of hearing of the accident, Mrs Ramsden's motherly
anxiety swamped all other feeling. She forgot to disapprove of a woman
who at sixty still wore a pad on her uncapped head, and lacy frills on
her petticoat, in gratitude to the hostess who had extended hospitality
to her ewe lamb. For the moment also, Geoffrey himself ceased to be a
dangerous roue, and became a gallant rescuer, miraculously appearing on
the scene of danger. She cried, and wanted to know how Elma looked;
what Elma said; how Elma felt; what Elma had had to eat; if Elma's
sheets had been aired; if Elma cried--poor darling! at being left
behind? And Cornelia answered fully on all these points, not always, it
is to be feared, with a strict regard to veracity, but with a
praiseworthy desire to soothe, which was blessed with wonderful success.
Mrs Ramsden dried her eyes, and opined that life was full of
blessings, and that she ought to be thankful that things were no worse!
There was a sweet young girl whom she had once known, who had both legs
amputated, and died of gangrene, a month before she was to have been
married. It was caused by a carriage accident, too, and now she came to
think of it, the poor dear had just the same pink-and-white complexion
as Elma herself.

"Well, I guess there's not much stump about Elma, this journey!"
returned Cornelia, cheerily. "There's nothing to it but a little shock
to the c