Still, I could not shake off the feeling, and with an odd restlessness upon me I started almost immediately after breakfast for a long walk. For some time I went on without paying very much attention to the direction I had taken, but mechanically I had passed along the Embankment, so on through crowded Piccadilly, and thus to the Park. The dreary stretch of sodden grass, with stripped trees, and here and there a patch of dingy London snow, did not look particularly inviting, but I went in, wondering a little at my own aimlessness of mood. I had intended to do a good deal of writing during the morning and early afternoon, but I knew that, even had I stayed at home, it would have been impossible for me to put pen to paper. The ubiquitous cyclist was to be seen in great numbers and to the best advantage. At this time of year the "smart set" was for the most part conspicuous by its absence, but there were some pretty and neatly costumed young women, and as I pursued my way slowly, idly looking at those who passed, there was a flash of red-gold hair as a slender figure in dark grey cloth shot by, and I knew, with a quickening of my heart throbs, that I had seen Miss Cunningham. She was going very well, and I was admiring the pretty back with its girlish shoulders and slim tapering waist, when suddenly a woman, riding in the opposite direction, swerved across the road on her wheel, before Miss Cunningham had been given either time to slacken her speed or to turn out of the way. A collision was inevitable, and without waiting for it to happen, as I knew it must, in another instant I ran forward with great springing strides. It was all over before I could reach the place. Both had fallen, and several passers-by on wheels had stopped and collected in so close a group that I could not see whether one or both had been seriously injured. In less time than is taken in the telling, however, I had elbowed my way through the well-meaning crowd to find Miss Cunningham sitting on the edge of the grass nursing a twisted ankle, her lovely face looking white and troubled. The cause of the accident was already on her feet, and in the midst of such voluble apologies and explanations that I could only conclude she, at least, had suffered slightly. "Miss Cunningham," I said, warning the girl of my presence; and she looked up with a tremulous little cry of surprise and perhaps relief. "Oh, I am so thankful!" she exclaimed. "I was just wondering what I should do. But--but you will help me, I know." "If you will let me," I responded, rather too eagerly. "I saw the accident from a distance. I hope you are not much hurt." "I don't quite know," she said, ruefully. By this time we had been practically left alone. Seeing that an acquaintance of the young lady's had opportunely appeared upon the scene, the others, whose proffered assistance could now be dispensed with, had one by one moved away.