"I cannot express my admiration of Miss Blair's brave conduct," said the young gentleman, with a return bow. "But my uncle, the Marquis of Ducie, shall hear that it was through you that his daughter is saved, if she should recover. Allow me to introduce myself." He handed her a daintily embossed card, with a coat of arms upon which was engraved, "_Lieutenant Harry Faulconcourt, H. M. S. Utopia._" With another profound bow he left her. It was long before Margaret could hope that her prayer was to be answered; the beautiful face of the lady showed no ripple of consciousness, and the heart beat with muffled and uncertain throbs. A physician called in on his way to the scene of the accident, but his examination was hurried, and his directions brief, for others were waiting, with broken limbs to be splintered, and gaping wounds to be sewed up. So Margaret and the bricklayer's wife did what they could alone. And the first beam of the full moon stole through the cracked window pane, and silvered over the pale, set countenance until it gleamed with lustrous purity, and the faint breath of returning life parted the marble lips, and Margaret saw that Heaven had consented to her prayer. Lady Juliana looked up fixedly, and saw a tender face bending over her, with gray eyes glimmering in the moonlight, through their burden of glad tears. Lady Juliana, in her pain and weakness, wondered what heavenly countenance this was which soared above her, and smiled in answer, thinking at first--poor little soul!--that she was with her mother in heaven. "How did I come to be here? Tell me about it." "There was a railway accident, you remember? Everybody was more or less hurt--I excepted--so I am taking care of you. Mr. Faulconcourt has gone to the village of Lynthorpe to telegraph for your papa. He will perhaps be here to-night." "And who are you?" asked the innocent voice again. "Margaret Blair," she stammered, turning away. "Do you belong to Lynthorpe?" "No. I was on my way to London. You remember the person who sat opposite you in the cars?" "Oh, yes. When I began to scream and jump up, you held me, didn't you?" "I was afraid you would dash yourself out at the door. Are you in pain?" My lady's pretty face was a net-work of petulant lines. "I have such a weary, crushed feeling," she complained; "and I don't like lying here in this odd place without my maid to take care of me. Of course you will be going away in the morning?" "Not unless your father arrives to-night to take charge of you." "Don't then, there's a dear Miss Blair," murmured the lady, coaxingly. Margaret bent over my lady with a rush of tenderness in her manner. What would she not give to win the sweet girl's love? The innocent blue eyes seemed to hold in their depths such guilelessness; the beauty was so perfect which Heaven had bestowed upon her, that beauty-loving Margaret yearned to have her cling to her thus forever.