"No!" snapped Cornelia, shortly. "I can't!--Not for many minutes longer, at this rate. My wrists are about broken as it is. What happens after this turning, I say? You must know. Use your brains, for goodness' sake--if you want any left to use another day. Is it a good road--better than this? What's on the sides--hedgerows, walls, water? For the land's sake, child, sort your ideas!" Thus admonished, Elma made a violent effort to pull herself together. For reasons already mentioned, this particular bit of country was clearly imprinted on her memory, and she had but to collect her scattered wits to see a clear picture of the path ahead. "The road is quite good. There is a wall--two walls. Some farm buildings on the right. At the end there is a hill; it leads down into the next village." "Humph!" Cornelia's nostrils dilated widely, and two spots of pink showed on her white cheeks. "Then I guess this is the end of the volume. A grass bank is better than a wall any day of the week. ... Now then, young woman, if you've got any grit stowed away, get it out, and use it. _It's coming_! Are you ready?" "No, no!" shrieked Elma, wildly. She clutched the seat with despairing hands, as with a sudden convulsive movement Cornelia switched the mare violently to the right. "Help, help! Oh, help--" The bank rose before her eyes in a sudden mountainous sweep; the mare, instead of being in front, soared suddenly on the top of the trap; the hinges creaked and strained; and the seat assumed a perpendicular position. It was all over in a couple of minutes, but to Elma it seemed as many hours. She had time to hear the rush of approaching footsteps, to see over the top of the hedge three startled masculine faces; to recognise the nearer of the three with a great throb of relief, and to stretch out her arms towards him with a shrill cry of appeal--then the crash came, and she was shot headlong into space. Fireworks! that was the first impression. Little dots of flame flitting about before her eyes, forming into circles of light and whizzing rapidly round and round. Then when her eyes were open, a heavy confused stupor, in which she saw, but refused to understand. Why was she lying on the grass in the middle of the day? Why did Cornelia look so queer, with her face stained with soil, and her hat on one side? Why did they offer her things to drink? She wasn't thirsty; the tea was bad; it stung her mouth. It wasn't tea at all, but something hot and nasty. It was brandy out of a flask! Elma lifted big, lovely eyes of a pansy blue, and stared vacantly into the face by her side, but at the sight of it memory came back in a rush. She sat up stiffly, moving her limbs in nervous, tentative fashion--gasped, sighed, and quavered out a tremulous-- "What happened? Is it all over? Are we saved?"