“The rain has made the dry, short moss as slippery as glass,” he said. “And it will be impossible for you to keep your feet without assistance. Pray stay where you are until I can return.” She obeyed so far as to stand still until he had passed out of sight, but her pride revolting against the idea of accepting his aid, or of leaning on his arm, she resolved to essay the descent without it. Mr. Aylwinne had in no wise exaggerated the difficulty. Florence’s thin boots, with their flat soles, afforded no resistance to the glassy earth. She was fain to snatch desperately at the trees to save herself from being thrown down; and at last, in one long glissade, she was impelled forward until she was on the very brink of a sand pit, and only saved from being hurried into it by the projecting roots of an old ash tree, which she succeeded in grasping. Frightened at the danger so narrowly escaped, and conscious that she must have wandered from the direct route, she tried to return to the spot where Mr. Aylwinne had left her. With difficulty she raised herself to her feet, for the fury of the lightning, and the beating of the rain in her face, dizzied her. Catching at the tufts of heather and the brushwood for support, she had nearly succeeded in returning to the path, when a flash, more vivid than any of the previous ones, lit up the murky air. A venerable tree, struck by the electric fluid, wavered and fell so immediately in the direction she was pursuing, that, shrieking and cowering down, she hid her face. Those mighty branches threatened to crush her beneath them, but she had no power to avert her doom. She knew that a fearful death was at hand, but time and strength to escape seemed alike to have left her. With a mighty crash the old tree measured its length upon the earth, that trembled beneath the shock; but Florence felt herself snatched from her dangerous position, and knew that she was safe and in the arms of Mr. Aylwinne. CHAPTER XVI. A MAN OF MYSTERY. For some few moments the awed Florence could not collect her senses sufficiently to know more than that she was saved. When she began to recover herself a little, Mr. Aylwinne was hurrying her down the hill; nor did he pause until they stood beside the carriage in which Fred was already comfortably laid. “Miss Heriton must not ride home--she is too wet to run the risk,” said Mr. Aylwinne authoritatively. “Take my horse with you, John, and I will walk with her across the fields.” Without giving her time to raise any objection, he led her away, and the exceeding gravity of his face kept Florence mute and embarrassed, until he paused a moment to inquire if he was walking too fast. “I owe you my life,” she faltered. “This is the second time you have saved me from a fearful death. How can I thank you?”