It fell with a hollow thud that made the panting girl, listening above, shudder violently, and fly back to the sleigh. The black horse, seemingly subdued by its wild race and with the sweat streaming from every pore, despite the biting wind, stood patiently waiting her pleasure as she nervously returned and caught up the reins preparing for the inclement drive home. A voice struck on her ears, sending terror to her heart lest the dead had arisen from his grave in the deserted pit. “I’ll drive you home, Miss Ellyson!” Who was this, calling her boldly by name? With a start of terror, she lifted her eyes, and saw a man striding to her through the snow. She had seen the bold eyes, the coarse, good-looking face before. It was Carey Doyle. “How came you here?” she faltered fearfully, and he answered coolly: “I was cutting across fields visiting some country friends of mine when I saw you upset, and hastened to your assistance. Who was the man you pushed over into the pit, Miss Ellyson? Surely not Frank Laurier?” Her heart sank with wild alarm as she answered faintly: “You--you--are mistaken. I--I--came--here alone, I swear. I was only--only--looking down into the pit thinking how terrible if the sleigh had overset down there!” “Miss Ellyson, I saw you dragging the man over there by his arms--don’t deny it,” Doyle returned masterfully. She was detected, she realized it, and began to sob hysterically: “Oh, for sweet pity’s sake do not betray me! He--he--was killed when the sleigh upset--and I--I--did not know what to do! I thought I would leave him there. How could I drive home with a dead man!” shudderingly. “What was his name?” “I will not tell you!” wildly. “Miss Ellyson, there is blood on your hands and your dress. Is it possible you have done murder?” Carey Doyle demanded, with sudden sternness. “No, no, it was an accident! He--he--would have mistreated me, and I--I--defended myself with the hairpin! It wounded him, and then the fall killed him! I--I--oh, sir, I cannot bear the sensation of discovery. I will make you rich if you will keep this terrible secret!” pleaded Cora, kneeling down abjectly in the snow before the exultant wretch glorying in the discovery he had made. Rather than put herself in the power of this bad man Cora had better have put the dead man back into the sleigh and driven back to the city with a full confession of her sin. Surely no jury would have convicted her of murder when they heard how she had been goaded by cruel wrong into a terrible deed. They would all agree that she had been driven temporarily insane by her fear and suffering. But her poor brain was too distraught to think clearly. A horrible fear possessed her lest the deed become known, and she should fall into the hands of the law. She knelt down in the cold snow with the biting wind cutting her white face and blowing her dark, loosened hair about her, her small hands clasped, pleading, praying: