The smoke hid the girl, and for a long moment, a moment of such agony as he had never known, Clement’s heart stood still. What had he done? oh, what had he done at last, with his cursed carelessness! Had he killed her? Slowly, the smoke cleared away, and he saw the girl. She was on her feet—thank God, she was on her feet! She was clinging with both hands to the stile. But was she—“Are you—are you——” he tried to frame words, his voice a mere whistle. She clung in silence to the rail, her face whiter than the quilted bonnet she wore. But he saw—thank God, he saw no wound, no blood, no hurt, and his own blood moved again, his lungs filled again with a mighty inspiration. “For pity’s sake, say you are not hurt!” he prayed. “For God’s sake, speak!” But the shock had robbed her of speech, and he feared that she was going to swoon. He looked helplessly at the brook. If she did, what ought he to do? “Oh, a curse on my carelessness!” he cried. “I shall never, never forgive myself.” It had in truth been a narrow, a most narrow escape, and at last she found words to say so. “I heard the shot—pass,” she whispered, and shuddering closed her eyes again, overcome by the remembrance. “But you are not hurt? They did pass!” The horror of that which might have been, of that which had so nearly been, overcame him anew, gave a fresh poignancy to his tone. “You are sure—sure that you are not hurt?” “No, I am not hurt,” she whispered. “But I am very—very frightened. Don’t speak to me. I shall be right—in a minute.” “Can I do anything? Get you some water?” She shook her head and he stood, looking solicitously at her, still fearing that she might swoon, and wondering afresh what he ought to do if she did. But after a minute or so she sighed, and a little color came back to her face. “It was near, oh, so near!” she whispered, and she covered her face with her hands. Presently, and more certainly, “Why did you have it—at full cock?” she asked. “God knows!” he owned. “It was unpardonable. But that is what I am! I am a fool, and forget things. I was thinking of something else, I did not hear you come up, and when I found you there I was startled.” “I saw.” She smiled faintly. “But it was—careless.” “Horribly! Horribly careless! It was wicked!” He could not humble himself enough. She was herself now, and she looked at him, took him in, and was sorry for him. She removed her hands from the rail, and though her fingers trembled she straightened her bonnet. “You are Mr. Ovington?” “Yes. And you are Miss Griffin, are you not?” “Yes,” smiling tremulously. “May I help you over the stile? Oh, your basket!” She saw that it lay some yards away, blackened by powder, one corner shot away; so narrow had been the escape! He had a feeling of sickness as he took it up. “You must not go on alone,” he said. “You might faint.”