Chapter VIII. Glimpses of Tragedy.




Stanton threw away his half-burned cigar--an act which proved him
strongly moved--and strode rapidly towards the main entrance near
which a little group had already gathered, and among the others,
Ida Mayhew. Not a hair of anybody's head was hurt, but an event
had almost occurred which would have more than satisfied Stanton's
spite against 'Yankee school-ma'ams,' and would also have made him
very miserable for months to come.

He had ordered his bays to the farther end of the piazza where they
were smoking, as he proposed to take Van Berg out for a drive. His
coachmen liked to wheel around the corner of the hotel and past the
main entrance in a dashing showy style, and thus far had suffered
no rebuke from his master for this habit. But on this occasion a
careless nursery maid, neglectful of her charge, had left a little
child to toddle to the centre of the carriage drive and there it had
stood, balancing itself with the uncertain footing characteristic
of first steps. Even if it could have seen the rapidly approaching
carriage that was hidden by the angle of the building, its baby
feet could not have carried it out of harm's way in time, and it
is more than probable that its inexperience would have prevented
any sense of danger.

But help was at hand in the person of one who never seemed so