The old horse which Mr. Wingate drove stood quiet in the road, else the matter might have had a different ending; for had she run and dragged her now helpless master, he would surely have been killed. As it was, she did not move, so there was nothing to deaden the sound of the sharp blows Fayette administered; and in the silence of the place and night this sound carried far. It reached the ears of a foot passenger, toiling up the mill road toward Fairacres and quickened his pace. So that when the half-wit finally paused for breath, he felt himself caught by his collar and heard a stern voice demanding:-- "What's this? Hold! Stop! This--_here_, in _Ardsley_?" Fayette looked up. The man who had gripped him was much taller than he, and seemed in that dim light a giant for strength. The capture brought back all those visions of punishment and the prison. In a twinkling the agile lad had writhed himself free from his short coat and leaped away into the darkness. The newcomer heard a sound of retreating footsteps and mocking laughter, then turned his attention to the injured man in the phaeton. "An old fellow, too, he seems. Hello! Are you alive? Hey! Can't you speak? That's serious." The stranger's actions were alert and decided. He gently raised the bent figure of the unconscious Mr. Wingate to as comfortable a position as he could, stepped into the vehicle, and took up the reins. "If nothing is changed, the nearest house is old Fairacres. But I didn't look for such a home-coming. Get up there, nag!" Not since the days of her youth had the sorrel mare been forced into such a pace as then. The rescuer drove for life and death, and as if all turnings of the old road were familiar to him. Nor did he slacken rein until he reached the front door of the mansion, and sung out in a voice to wake great echoes:-- "Hello, there! Come out! A man in distress!" This hello reached the stable, where Fayette was loosing Balaam, and roused that intelligent beast to speak his opinion concerning these disturbances of his rest. Marshall, hurrying to answer the imperative demand at the front door, heard the burro's bray of protest, though he paid it small attention then, because of the nearer demand. Holding his candle high above his head, he slid back the bolts and peered out, but the sight which met his gaze set him trembling like an aspen. "Why--my land! Master, what--what's happened? Have they murdered you out of hand? Ah, but my mind misgave me how 'twould be. To think it--to think it!" "Hush! Put down the candle. Give a lift; he's powerful heavy. Is this your master?" The servant retreated. This might be the very person who had done the mill owner such terrible injury. He would put his own precious anatomy out of harm's reach. "Oh, you fool! Come back. You're safe. Leave that door open. I'll bring him in myself. Make way there--quick!"