An unusual situation, even the most trivial, which delivers shallow minds to reflection, is for them full of uneasiness. To be given up to self is the most frightful of catastrophes to him who finds self an utter stranger. If Mrs. Sanford had no great power of reasoning, she was not without a fancy which fear stirred into activity; and, by the time she had been alone five minutes, her terror had become ludicrously great. A squirrel scampering across the road called from her a scream, which was quickly stifled by the thought that an outcry would be likely to attract beasts of prey. A crow flew overhead; and that presager of evil filled her with terror unutterable. The fact that she was alone on a road much travelled, and but three or four miles from her own home, seems an insufficient cause for such fear; but Mrs. Sanford could hardly have suffered more mental anguish if deposited with Daniel in the den of lions. Suddenly she heard the sound of approaching wheels, and this sign of human proximity revived her drooping courage. As the moments had seemed hours to her, she thought her son had already returned; but a glimpse of the tossing manes of a span of grays told her that it was the Toxteth equipage which approached. Her mind yielded to an entirely new sensation, as a fluff of thistledown is lightly blown about. "Mrs. Toxteth shall never see me in such a position as this," she said to herself. "I wouldn't demean myself by letting her know who it is." So the foolish woman, who had, in common with the ostrich, the feeling, that, if her head was concealed, her entire person must be invisible, spread the corner of her shawl over her face, and sat motionless. The carriage drew nearer, and stopped, a man's voice asking who was there. As the veiled figure returned no answer, Clarence Toxteth, for he it was, jumped out, and approached the lady. "Who is it?" he asked. "Do you want help?" "No," she answered. "Go away!" "Why, Mrs. Sanford!" he said, recognizing the voice. "What has happened? Are you hurt?" Being recognized, the lady uncovered her face, and said with acerbity,-- "If I'm not killed, I'm sure it isn't my fault. I am so shaken, I doubt I shall ever get over it." The young man, being fortunately alone, took the lady into his own carriage and drove on, leaving the wreck of the buggy to Will's care. "I doubt but it's a forerunner of a bad sign," Mrs. Sanford said as they drove along. "I always heard it was unlucky to break down." "It was lucky for me, at least," young Toxteth answered gallantly. "I am glad you were not hurt." "But the shock to my mind, I being as fleshy as I am," she returned rather illogically, "was dreadful." They drove smoothly along, Clarence secretly considering how he might best broach a subject of which his mind was full. "I've wanted to see you for a long time," he began.