Impeded by the clinging arms of the two, and distressed beyond measure by their frightened screams, it was impossible for Lance to do anything to help them. Though he held on to the reins so tightly that his hands were wounded and bleeding, his utmost strength was insufficient to arrest the speed of the horses. They ran faster and faster, as though incited to greater speed by the screams of the women. At length, with a frantic effort, they cleared themselves of the sleigh and bounded away, leaving the dainty vehicle overturned and broken, and its occupants reposing in a snow-drift. Lance was the first to lift himself up and look about. He felt as if every bone in his body were broken, so swift had been the impetus that hurled him out; but repressing his own pain he hastened to his two companions. "Ada, Mrs. Vance, are either of you hurt?" he inquired, anxiously. Mrs. Vance was already on her feet, shaking the loose snow from her hair and dress. "I believe I am quite uninjured beyond the shock of the fall," said she. "Are you, Lance?" "Oh! I am all right," said he; "but, Ada, my dear girl, are you hurt?" Ada answered his query with a moan of pain, but made no effort to rise. He bent over her and lifted the slight form in his strong arms. "Can you stand?" he inquired, anxiously. "Oh, no--no!" she moaned. "My ankle seems to be twisted or sprained, and my head struck something hard like a rock in falling. It aches dreadfully." She burst into tears, sobbing aloud in her pain. Lance looked about him in despair. There he was in the road, several miles from the city, with two helpless females to take care of, and his broken sleigh lying useless, the horses quite out of sight. Worse than all, Ada lying helpless in his arms, unable to stand or walk, and moaning like a child in her acute suffering. "This is terrible," he said. "What can we do, Mrs. Vance?" "Nothing," said she, coldly, maddened by the sight of Ada's head resting against his shoulder, "except to remain here and freeze to death waiting for some other vehicle to happen along and take us home." "Something may happen along at any minute," he answered, encouragingly. "There are numbers of people out to-night as well as ourselves." "It is quite probable that we are the last on the road," said she doubtfully. "Indeed, I believe that we are. If Ada were unhurt I should suggest that we walk home, or back to the hotel at least. Ada, my dear, rouse yourself and do not weep so childishly. Do you not see what a plight you are putting us in? I am quite sure you can walk a little if you will only try to make an effort." Thus adjured, Ada lifted herself and tried to put her foot on the ground and stand up. "It is useless," said she, falling back with a sharp cry. "My ankle is too badly hurt. I cannot stand upon it." Ere she ceased to speak, the welcome tinkle of sleigh-bells in the distance saluted their ears.