Montague went over and made certain that the other man—who was obviously the chauffeur—was dead. Then he hurried down the road, and dragged some brush out into the middle of it, where it could be seen from a distance by any other automobile that came along; after which he went back to the stranger, and bound his handkerchief about his forehead to stop the bleeding from the cut. The old man’s lips were tightly set, as if he were suffering great pain. “I’m done for!” he moaned, again and again. “Where are you hurt?” Montague asked. “I don’t know,” he gasped. “But it’s finished me! I know it—it’s the last straw.” Then he closed his eyes and lay back. “Can’t you get a doctor?” he asked. “There are no houses very near,” said Montague. “But I can run—” “No, no!” the other interrupted, anxiously. “Don’t leave me! Some one will come.—Oh, that fool of a chauffeur—why couldn’t he go slow when I told him? That’s always the way with them—they’re always trying to show off.” “The man is dead,” said Montague, quietly. The other started upon his elbow. “Dead!” he gasped. “Yes,” said Montague. “He’s under the car.” The old man’s eyes had started wild with fright; and he caught Montague by the arm. “_Dead!_” he said. “O my God—and it might have been me!” There was a moment’s pause. The stranger caught his breath, and whispered again: “I’m done for! I can’t stand it! it’s too much!” Montague had noticed when he lifted the man that he was very frail and slight of build. Now he could feel that the hand that held his arm was trembling violently. It occurred to him that perhaps the man was not really hurt, but that his nerves had been upset by the shock. And he felt certain of this a moment later, when the stranger suddenly leaned forward, clutching him with redoubled intensity, and staring at him with wide, horror-stricken eyes. “Do you know what it means to be afraid of death?” he panted. “Do you know what it means to be afraid of death?” Then, without waiting for a reply, he rushed on—“No, no! You can’t! you can’t! I don’t believe any man knows it as I do! Think of it—for ten years I’ve never known a minute when I wasn’t afraid of death! It follows me around—it won’t let me be! It leaps out at me in places, like this! And when I escape it, I can hear it laughing at me—for it knows I can’t get away!” The old man caught his breath with a choking sob. He was clinging to Montague like a frightened child, and staring with a wild, hunted look upon his face. Montague sat transfixed.