When he came to himself, and saw the trees and bushes dance strangely about him for a moment, he found that he had been lifted over to the grass at the roadside, and that Gifford Woodhouse's arm was under his head. As his eyes grew steady, he saw that two men were holding the trembling, steaming horse, and that a little group of people were standing about the phaeton; but the gray figure had disappeared. Gifford was fanning him, and pressing something to his lips with a gentle, anxious hand. "Gifford," he said faintly--"ah--which?" "They are neither of them hurt, thank God," answered the young man reverently, "but they owe their lives to you, Mr. Denner." "Yes--but"--he struggled to say--"which--which was it?" "He means who was it," said the rector, who had taken his place on the other side of the injured man. "It was my daughter--God bless you, Denner!--and Mrs. Forsythe." Mr. Denner groaned, and shut his eyes. "Oh, it wasn't either," he murmured; "that's always the way!" "His mind is wandering," Gifford said, in a low voice. "I'm afraid this is very serious, doctor. Do you think he can be moved now?" The lawyer did not try to prove his sanity; he only groaned again, but this time it was partly from pain. They lifted him gently, and carried him into his own house, which he had nearly reached when the runaway overtook him. Both the women in the carriage had been thrown out, but Lois was able to walk, and so far as could be ascertained Mrs. Forsythe was unhurt, save for the shock, which sent her from one fainting fit into another until late that night. They had carried her back to the rectory, Lois clinging to one limp hand, and crying hysterically. "Oh, she will die," she sobbed, "I know she will die; and it is my fault, it is my carelessness! You needn't say it isn't, father. I know it is! Oh, what shall I do!" But there was nothing to do; and Mrs. Dale, who had been hastily summoned,--for her reputation for nursing was even wider than Miss Deborah's for housekeeping,--only put her to bed, "to get her out of the way," she said, but really because she was filled with sympathy for her niece's remorse, and felt that the forgetfulness of sleep was the only comfort for her. "I'll tell you what it is, brother," she said,--she had quietly settled herself in authority at the rectory, despite Jean's air of contemptuous dignity--"I believe Arabella Forsythe will have a chance to die, at last. She's been looking for it these ten years, and as soon as she stops fainting it will be a positive satisfaction to her. I'm afraid she is really a very sick woman." But no such thought did she impart to Lois, when she tucked her up in bed, giving her a hearty kiss with her soothing draught, and bidding her have some sense and stop crying, for Mrs. Forsythe would be all right in the morning. But the morning brought no comfort; the doctor, who had come from Mercer as quickly as Mrs. Dale's horses could bring him, was very grave.