"I shall spring out."

"No, Miss Mayhew, you must not do that," said Van Berg, decidedly.
"You must be greatly injured, and you would with almost certainty
be disfigured for life if you sprang out upon the stony road. You
could not help falling on your face."

"Oh, horrible!" she exclaimed.

At the next heavy lurch of the stage she half-rose again to carry
out her rash purpose, but the artist seized her hand and held her
in her place, at the same time speaking kindly and firmly to the
horses. They now began to heed his voice, and to recover from
their panic.

"See, Miss Mayhew," he said, "you have only to control yourself a
few moments longer, and our danger is over."

"Oh, do stop them, quick," she gasped, clinging to his hand as if
he were her only hope, "and I'll never forget your kind--oh, merciful
heaven!"

At this favorable moment, when the horses were fast coming under
control, a spiteful cur came tearing out after them, renewing their
panic with tenfold intensity. As the dog barked on one side they
sheered off on the other, until they plunged down the side of the
road. The stage was nearly overturned, and then it stopped with
a sudden and heavy thump. Miss Mayhew was precipitated into Mr.
Van Berg's arms, and she clung to him for a moment in a paroxysm of
terror. His wits had not so far deserted him but that he perceived