"He's forgotten," said Miss Bethesda to herself; "he's forgotten, and I didn't tell him. He might--" she caught her breath, for there came the sound of a crash, and then a heavy fall. "Lord, forgive me!" she cried. "He's found it, sure enough, and like t' ha' killed himself." "It" meant the old trap-door in the room that was formerly used by the Freemasons. Many and many a time had she and Buckstone explored it in childish days, and played prisoner under it, and come up through it in all manner of costume and disguise. He ought to have known the room as well as he knew his own hand. Was it her fault that he had forgotten, in his blind rage? But--but she had seen him rush into the room, and she had not warned him. "Buckstone, be you hurt?" she cried, leaning over the dark hole in the floor. She listened, and heard strange sounds from below,--grunts and groans, mingled with unscriptural language. She drew a long breath. "I knew 'twasn't deep enough to hurt him real bad," she said. "Provided he can cuss, I guess he's all right." She listened again, inclining her ear this time toward the outer door, and she heard the clear jingle of sleigh-bells and the swish of a sleigh, as it swept out of the yard and away over the snowy road. Again Miss Bethesda breathed deep. "That's a good hearin'," she murmured; "but I _am_ sorry for Buckstone! "Be you hurt?" she asked again, bending once more over the hole. "I'll let you know whether I'm hurt or not!" muttered Buckstone from below. "Once let me get out of this, and I'll be even with you, Bethesda Pool!" "Will!" said Miss Bethesda, in her calmest tone. "Well, I must be going, Mr. Bradford. I'll send Iry to help you out. I _am_ surprised, though, at you forgettin', after as many times as you've ben down that hole!" Mr. Bradford's reply did little credit to him as a church-member, and Miss Bethesda, after calling her man and giving him certain directions, returned to her guests in the dancing-hall. People were looking for her with some curiosity. The news of Will's departure with Nan had spread, and when they saw Buckstone Bradford rush from the room, followed closely by their hostess, there was a good deal of suppressed excitement, but no one dared to follow; you might take liberties with some folks, but Bethesda Pool was not one of them. And, after all, she and Buck Bradford knew each other like two old shoes, if they hadn't spoken for fifteen years; and what they--the guests--were here for was a good time, so when the fiddler struck up the "Chorus Jig," most of the dancers took the floor, leaving only a few of the most curious to watch the door, and speculate what was going on behind it. But now the little door opened, and here was Miss Pool again, calm and unruffled, folding her mitted hands, and looking as if she had never heard of such a thing as a runaway couple.