heart seemed to
stop beating--Blood?--Oh, what had happened? Franz was wounded and
unconscious. Where was the coachman? She called him, but no answer
came. She still sat there on the ground. She did not seem to be injured,
although she ached all over. "What shall I do?" she thought; "what shall
I do? How can it be that I am not injured? Franz!" she called again. A
voice answered from somewhere near her.

"Where are you, lady? And where is the gentleman? Wait a minute,
Miss--I'll light the lamps, so we can see. I don't know what's got into
the beasts to-day. It ain't my fault, Miss, sure--they ran into a pile
of stones."

Emma managed to stand up, although she was bruised all over. The fact
that the coachman seemed quite uninjured reassured her somewhat.
She heard the man opening the lamp and striking a match. She waited
anxiously for the light. She did not dare to touch Franz again. "It's
all so much worse when you can't see plainly," she thought. "His eyes
may be open now--there won't be anything wrong...."

A tiny ray of light came from one side. She saw the carriage, not
completely upset, as she had thought, but leaning over toward the
ground, as if one wheel were broken. The horses stood quietly. She saw
the milestone, then a heap of loose stones, and beyond them a ditch.
Then the light touched Franz's feet, crept up over his body to his face,
and rested there. The coachman had set the lamp on the ground beside the
head of the unconscious man. Emma dropped to her knees, and her heart
seemed to stop beating as she looked into the face before her. It was
ghastly white; the eyes were half open, only the white showing. A thin
stream of blood trickled down from one temple and ran into his collar.
The teeth were fastened into the under lip. "No--no--it isn't possible,"
Emma spoke, as if to herself.

The driver knelt also and examined the face of the man. Then he took
the head in both his hands and raised it. "What are you doing?" screamed
Emma, hoarsely, shrinking back at the sight of the head that seemed to
be rising of its own volition.

"Please, Miss--I'm afraid--I'm thinking--there's a great misfortune
happened--"

"No--no--it's not true!" said Emma. "It can't be true!--You are not
hurt? Nor am I--"

The man let the head he held fall back again into the lap of the
trembling Emma. "If only some one would come--if the peasants had only
passed fifteen minutes later."

"What shall we do?" asked Emma, her lips t