It was then that my mind reached an altitude of far-seeing clear-sighted wisdom that, under the perilous circumstances, was akin to inspiration. Although ordinary men similarly placed would have reviewed their past misdeeds, or have looked forward with selfish misgiving to approaching dissolution, I did not think of my own danger; my mind was fully occupied with the problem of how to save my companion for his marriage at eleven o'clock. In case this mental attitude may seem heroic, I wish to say frankly that it didn't seem so to me; if it should be supposed that the impulse was a noble one, let me say that I had no intention of acting nobly; I also bitterly repel Marion's insinuation that it was an ignoble one. The fact is, it did not occur to me that I should analyze my motive, but if I had known how I would be catechized later I would have done so, and thus have avoided trouble. As he spoke, Mr. Fairman gazed with longing eyes at the ground that seemed so invitingly near, with only the upper half of a rapidly revolving wheel to bar his descent. I knew that if I left him to himself he would take that fatal jump, yet I could not have moved a finger to stop him, for I dared not relax my hold on the reins. I must overcome with calm and decisive reasoning the alluring idea that had taken possession of him. "Mr. Fairman," I said, with quiet authority, "there is--no cause--for alarm." He looked beseechingly at me, and I felt encouraged. "If you--jumped--" I continued jerkily, my words punctuated by the jolting of the vehicle, "you would either--be killed--" he shuddered--"or mangled." He stared at me with dumb appeal. "If the buggy were--in front--of a runaway horse--we'd have to jump, but since--we're behind--our best plan is to remain--seated--as long as--possible." A faint smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. "We're absolutely safe--" I urged, "on the seat--but danger begins when we--leave it." Mr. Fairman gulped. "I see," he said; "you've got a head. Don't--let me--jump."