Star had already clasped Edith in her arms, but she wanted to hold her closer, if possible, to whisper consoling words. And as she was about to say a word of comfort, there was a sudden stoppage of the machine. They were thrown forward, and it turned on its side, buckling up like a crushed egg shell. All that Star remembered was a terrific crash, a grinding noise, and the breaking of glass--then darkness. Edith rose up from the middle of the road, stunned, dazed, bewildered. She stood a moment beholding the wreckage; then, quickly surveying the scene, rushed to the ruined cab, from which she had been flung, and seized Star by the arm, and lifted her up and dragged her out. Star was unconscious. Edith administered a little dirty water, taken from a puddle in the road, to her face; and she soon recovered. "Are you hurt?" asked Edith, kneeling by her side, as she lay by the roadside. "Not much," she replied. "Only had my wits knocked out a little; I am all right now. Are you hurt?" "Not much," answered Edith, as she brushed back the hair that had fallen over Star's face. Then Star arose. "Where are we?" she asked. "We seem to be in the country," replied Edith. "I see a house across the field aways. We must have help, Star, at once. I do not see the chauffeur; he must have disappeared." Edith now released Star, seeing that she was not hurt, and began to brush her clothing to remove some of the be-spatterment that came as a result of her dropping so miraculously in the mire of the highway. "The chauffeur may be under the car," said Star. "Why, I do not see him; it is strange," said Edith, as she walked about the car, and looked beneath it. "Let us search the weeds by the fence." Carrying out the suggestion, the two young ladies, now fully recovered, but much excited still, began to tramp among the dead herbage by the fence. Edith plunged in among the weeds and thistles and briars, with as much courage as she would have shown in hunting for some piece of finery in her boudoir, having no regard for the dispoilment of her fine clothes any more than if they were of linsey-woolsey. Star climbed the fence and was treading down the reedage of the field with an earnestness of purpose that became her character to act her part well in any employment. "Here he is!" shouted Star, after trampling down a few square feet of bramble to get to a spot, where she thought she saw, while mounting the fence, a man's coat. "He is dead!" The man was lying on his face, and Star stood over him. "Dead!" cried Edith, climbing the fence, and running toward Star, tearing her dress on the briars in her haste to join her friend. "Dead!" she repeated, as she took Star by the arm. "Dead! Poor man!" Both stood looking down upon him, wondering what next to do. Edith stooped down and turned him on his back. "Oh, Edith! He is my poor brother!" wildly cried Star.