Her fit of anger dissolving in the sunshine of sweet good nature, she hummed, as she galloped on, a fragment of a tender little love-song, sweet as it was sad: “Honey flowers for the honey-comb, And the honey-bees from home. “A honey-comb and a honey-flower And the bee shall have his hour. “A honeyed heart for the honey-comb. And the humming bee flies home. “A heavy heart in the honey-flower. And the bee has had his hour.” Suddenly the low song died on her lips, changing to a cry of alarm. At a curve in the road she came suddenly upon a startling sight. Rex just swerved aside from a runaway horse that was dragging behind it a shattered little runabout, in which stood upright a white-faced man, straining desperately upon the reins, trying to stop the maddened animal’s wild career. Even in that terrible moment, with the black horse plunging madly forward to the imminent peril of the driver’s life, Leola saw, as by a flash, that the man was young and very, very handsome, and her heart throbbed with wild pain at his danger, for on one side the road sloped, precipitously, downward to a dangerous stream of water, and a plunge over that steep incline meant death in horrible form. But what could avert the catastrophe, for it seemed as if nothing could restrain the plunging brute or turn aside his maddened course toward the crumbling edge of the yawning precipice that would instantly engulf both in ruin and death! A cry of agony, “Oh, God, save him!” shrilled over her rosy lips. Surely the listening angels heard the prayer, for suddenly she saw that there was one chance in a thousand to avert the threatening disaster--one chance, though with deadly peril to herself. With a high heart of hope, and a courage that defied all the deadly risk, she dared the consequences, spurring Rex forward in front of the black horse with a clarion call on her lips that wrought what seemed like a miracle. For at her voice, conjoined with a startled whinny from Rex, the terrified animal, plunging and rearing but an instant before, with upraised hoofs nearing the verge of the dangerous precipice, now stopped as if shot, trembling all over, while Leola, throwing out her arms, caught his neck and clung, clung, clung, with the energy of despair. CHAPTER III. ARE YOU AN ANGEL? What subtle influence wrought the miracle, for it could not have been the strength of Leola’s slender hands? But there stood the satanic black animal, its fury abated, its flight arrested, its huge form trembling, shuddering, while the foamy sweat dropped in streams to the ground. As for the driver, he had been hurled violently backward into the road by the impetus of the sudden stop, and now lay there without sound or motion, like a dead man.