the seizure of his horse, the dreadful blow from behind, his effort to turn, to steady himself, his fall, the bitter cold, the slow, agonizing return to consciousness, the bending face of Burley, the drops of water, the encouraging words, and the strong arms whose embrace was bis last remembrance, all these things he lived over again. He had been tormented and haunted by unreal and impossible visions; but these things he knew were realities. He made an effort, and carried his memory further back, to that lonely lane, and the sad-faced woman he had met in it, and from whom he had fled in such a whirl of passions as made him a ready prey for the two cowardly assassins who had been waiting behind the wall for him. Back a little further, and with a great rush of hot blood came a vivid, chafing remembrance of his quarrel with Burley, and of the evil fruit it had brought forth.
When Eleanor returned to him, radiant in ruby-colored silk and fine lace, she was almost frightened at the expression on his face; it was so solemn and so full of purpose. Burley had saved his life; and yet he knew not what wrongs had been done Burley while he had been
