It was a horrible ride, not on account of the bear, which might have been a mouse for all the thought I gave it, but because there, ahead of me, in that narrow road, a beautiful girl, just blossoming into splendid womanhood, was rushing to an awful, ghastly death, and a few cruel yards behind her the man that loved her and would so gladly have given his life for hers. Oh, how my heart ached for him, and how I wished the old man that was third in that terrible race might die instead of that sweet child-woman! Could he overtake her? He was spurring fiercely and the gray was doing his best; but though the gap between them was closing, it was closing slowly--and we had entered the wood. Yes, he was surely gaining now, sixty feet more and he would have her. But there was the tree, and he couldn't reach her in time. I covered my eyes with my hands and turned sick and faint. Then came back to me in a man's voice grown shrill with agony, one word, and following it crash! crash! in rapid succession, and again the sound of the hurrying hoof beats. I opened my eyes. Was I blinded by my tears? There were no dreadful bundles under the tree. Then that word, with its fierce, imperious note of command, which had conveyed no meaning to me in that first awful moment, came through the porch of the outer ear, where it had lingered, into the brain, and I understood--“Jump!” He had taken the one chance left to them at the last moment, shrieked his order at her, and she had obeyed, lifting her mare to a leap that looked impossible. He had followed her, and they had cleared it safely, for I could see their heads over the fallen trunk. I checked my horse, dismounted, led him through the opening and galloped on again. In a few moments I had the pleasure of seeing the gray range up alongside of the mare and Van Zandt seize her bridle. I joined them and found they were sound in life and limb. Harry was standing by the mare's head, quieting her, and somehow he had gotten possession of a little gauntleted hand and was looking at the girl with a world of love in his fine eyes. She was quite pale, but her face was steadfast and strong, and in it as she met Van Zandt's look frankly was the dawning of something that she was unaware of yet, something that, if she lived would crown her lover's life with happiness “sweet beyond compare”--and my old heart was glad for them both.