He stopped, and stared into the thin, pallid face. “Could she have been hit by a wild arrow that missed the target and flew off into the woods? Heavens! I hope not!” Down the steep path, slipping, sliding, maintaining his footing with difficulty, went Bruce Browning, with Nell Thornton in his arms, until he came to the rivulet he had seen gurgling over the rocks. There he put her down, as tenderly as if she were a sleeping child, and sought to make her comfortable by rolling up his coat and tucking it under her head and shoulders. This done, he scooped up some of the water in his cap and began to bathe her hands in it, and to sprinkle it in her face. But Nell Thornton was so slow to return to consciousness that Bruce was about to rip up the sleeve of her dress to ascertain the nature of the wound from which the blood still trickled, when she stirred uneasily. Thus encouraged, he renewed his efforts, and a little later had the pleasure of seeing her eyes flutter open. She stared in a puzzled way up into his face, then tried to get on her feet. “Let me help you,” Bruce begged, slipping an arm beneath her head. “Whar—whar am I?” she demanded, putting up a hand protestingly. “You are hurt, and you fell in the path up there, a little while ago,” Bruce explained. “I brought you down here by the brook.” She looked at her hand, saw the blood, and made another effort to get on her feet. She succeeded this time, standing panting and wild-eyed on the rocks. “I’m not hurt ter speak on!” she asserted. “I ’low ez how I must hev got dizzy-like an’ fell, but I ain’t hurt ter speak on.” She seemed about to start on down the path, but checked herself, with the feeling that perhaps something in the way of an acknowledgment was due this handsome stranger, and continued: “I’m ’bleeged to you. ’Twas a acks’dent, the way it happened. I war behint the tree, an’ they didn’t see me tell I stepped out, an’ then the arrer war a-comin’, an’ it war too late to be holped.” “Then one of the arrows struck you, as I feared!” growled Browning. “Do you think you are much hurt? Perhaps you had better make an examination. The wound seems to be bleeding pretty freely.” She drew the sleeve down, as if to hide the telltale color. “Plenty time fur that when I git home, which, ef I ever git thar, I’d better be humpin’ myself along, too!” Again she moved as if to start down the path, but was checked by Browning’s words: “You are in no condition to go alone, Miss—Miss——” “My name’s Nell Thornton,” she said, coloring slightly, “ef that is what you mean. But these hyar mounting people don’t waste no breath a-sayin’ of miss an’ mister.” Still, Browning could see that she was pleased.