dragged along the ground between the trees at the imminent risk of his life—a risk so terrible that Fanny Trehearne turned paler for him than for her own danger. In half a dozen more strides they might both have been killed. But the mare stopped, quivering, tried to rear, but could not lift Lawrence far from the ground nor shake off his desperate hold, plunged once and again, and then stood quite still, trembling violently. Lawrence scrambled to his feet, still holding the bridle, and promptly placed himself in front of the mare.
For one breathless instant, Lawrence looked into Fanny's face, and neither spoke nor moved. Both were still very pale. Then the young girl slipped off, the reins in her hand.
"That was uncommonly well done," she said, with great calm. "You've saved my life."
She no longer looked at him while she spoke, but patted and stroked the thoroughbred, looking her over with a critical eye.
"Oh—that's all right," answered Lawrence. "Don't mention it!"
He laughed nervously, still panting from his
