'As to embracing the opportunity--I should think there's no man living but would have done his best to save you, had he been standing here.' 'Ah, well; let it go,' returned the horseman. 'Will you tell me your name? and something about yourself?' 'My name is Austin Clay. I have few relatives living, and they are distant ones, and I shall, I expect, have to make my own way in the world.' 'Are you in any profession? or business?' 'I am with Mr. Thornimett, of Ketterford: the builder and contractor.' 'Why, I am a builder myself!' cried the stranger, a pleasing accent of surprise in his tone. 'Shall you ever be visiting London?' 'I daresay I shall, sir. I should like to do so.' 'Then, when you do, mind you call upon me the first thing,' he rejoined, taking a card from a case in his pocket and handing it to Austin. Come to me should you ever be in want of a berth: I might help you to one. Will you promise?' 'Yes, sir; and thank you.' 'I fancy the thanks are due from the other side, Mr. Clay. Oblige me by not letting that Bess o' Bedlam obtain sight of my card. I might have her following me.' 'No fear,' said Austin, alluding to the caution. 'She must be lying there to regain the strength exhausted by passion, carelessly remarked the stranger. 'Poor thing! it is sad to be mad, though! She is getting up now, I see: I had better be away. That town beyond, in the distance, is Ketterford, is it not?' 'It is.' 'Fare you well, then. I must hasten to catch the twelve o'clock train. They have horse-boxes, I presume, at the station?' 'Oh, yes.' 'All right,' he nodded. 'I have received a summons to town, and cannot afford the time to ride Salem home. So we must both get conveyed by train, old fellow'--patting his horse, as he spoke to it. 'By the way, though--what is the lady's name?' he halted to ask. 'Gwinn. Miss Gwinn.' 'Gwinn? Gwinn?' Never heard the name in my life. Fare you well, in all gratitude.' He rode away. Austin Clay looked at the card. It was a private visiting card--'Mr. Henry Hunter' with an address in the corner. 'He must be one of the great London building firm, "Hunter and Hunter,"' thought Austin, depositing the card in his pocket. 'First class people. And now for Miss Gwinn.' For his humanity would not allow him to leave her unlooked-after, as the molested and angry man had done. She had risen to her feet, though slowly, as he stepped back across the short worn grass of the common. The fall had shaken her, without doing material damage. 'I hope you are not hurt?' said Austin, kindly. 'A ban light upon the horse!' she fiercely cried. 'At my age, it does not do to be thrown on the ground violently. I thought my bones were broken; I could not rise. And he has escaped! Boy! what did he say to you of me--of my affairs?' 'Not anything. I do not believe he knows you in the least. He says he does not.' The crimson passion had faded from Miss Gwinn's face, leaving it wan and white. 'How dare you say you believe it?'