She held his arm closer. “No,” she insisted, tenderly, “I don’t want to go back. I won’t be sent away from you.” She drew his head down to hers and kissed him tenderly. “Where would we get to if we drove on down there?” she asked. “That’s the road to Prague, dear.” “We won’t go quite that far,” she smiled, “but I’d like to drive on a little, down there.” She pointed into the darkness. Franz called to the driver. There was no answer; the carriage rumbled on, slowly. Franz ran after it, and saw that the driver was fast asleep. Franz roused him roughly. “We want to drive on down that street. Do you hear me?” “All right, sir.” Emma entered the carriage first, then Franz. The driver whipped his horses, and they galloped madly over the moist earth of the road-bed. The couple inside the cab held each other closely as they swayed with the motion of the vehicle. “Isn’t this quite nice?” whispered Emma, her lips on his. In the moment of her words she seemed to feel the cab mounting into the air. She felt herself thrown over violently, reached for some hold, but grasped only the empty air. She seemed to be spinning madly like a top, her eyes closed; suddenly she found herself lying on the ground, a great silence about her, as if she were alone, far away from all the world. Then noises began to come into her consciousness again; hoofs beat the ground near her; a low moaning came from somewhere; but she could see nothing. Terror seized her; she screamed aloud. Her terror grew stronger, for she could not hear her own voice. Suddenly she knew what had happened; the carriage had hit some object, possibly a milestone; had upset, and she had been thrown out. Where is Franz? was her next thought. She called his name. And now she could hear her voice, not distinctly yet, but she could hear it. There was no answer to her call. She tried to get up. After some effort she rose to a sitting posture, and, reaching out, she felt something, a human body, on the ground beside her. She could now begin to see a little through the dimness. Franz lay beside her, motionless. She put out her hand and touched his face; something warm and wet covered it. Her heart seemed to stop beating--Blood?--Oh, what had happened? Franz was wounded and unconscious. Where was the coachman? She called him, but no answer came. She still sat there on the ground. She did not seem to be injured, although she ached all over. “What shall I do?” she thought; “what shall I do? How can it be that I am not injured? Franz!” she called again. A voice answered from somewhere near her. “Where are you, lady? And where is the gentleman? Wait a minute, Miss--I’ll light the lamps, so we can see. I don’t know what’s got into the beasts to-day. It ain’t my fault, Miss, sure--they ran into a pile of stones.”