At the steepest part of the hill a trace broke, and the driver drew the carriage across the hill and shouted to David. He came running up, and put a large stone behind each wheel. Lucy was alarmed. “Mr. Dodd! let me out.” He handed her out. The postboy was at a _nonplus;_ but David whipped a piece of cord and a knife out of his pocket, and began, with great rapidity and dexterity, to splice the trace. “Ah! now you are pleased, Mr. Dodd; our misfortune will elicit your skill in emergencies.” “Oh, no, it isn't that; it is--I never hoped to see you again so soon.” Lucy colored, and her eyes sought the ground; the splice was soon made. “There!” said David; “I could have spent an hour over it; but you would have been vexed, and the bitter moment must have come at last.” “God bless you, Miss Fountain--oh! mayn't I say Miss Lucy to-day?” he cried, imploringly. “Of course you may,” said Lucy, the tears rising in her eyes at his sad face and beseeching look. “Oh, Mr. Dodd, parting with those we esteem is always sad enough; I got away from the door without crying--for once; don't _you_ make me cry.” “Make you cry?” cried David, as it he had been suspected of sacrilege; “God forbid!” He muttered in a choking voice, “You give the word of command, for I can't.” “You can go on,” said her soft, clear voice; but first she gave David her hand with a gentle look--“Good-by.” But David could not speak to her. He held her hand tight in both his powerful hands. They seemed iron to her--shaking, trembling, grasping iron. The carriage went slowly on, and drew her hand away. She shrank into a corner of the carriage; he frightened her. He followed the carriage to the brow of the hill, then sat down upon a heap of stones, and looked despairingly after it. Meantime Lucy put her head in her hands and blushed, though she was all alone. “How dare he forget the distance between us? Poor fellow! have not I at times forgotten it? I am worse than he. I lost my self-possession; I should have checked his folly; he knows nothing of _les convenances._ He has hurt my hand, he is so rough; I feel his clutch now; there, I thought so, it is all red--poor fellow! Nonsense! he is a sailor; he knows nothing of the world and its customs. Parting with a pleasant acquaintance forever made him a little sad.