For a moment Nell was too startled to do anything but cry out; then, as the man did not move, she knelt beside him, and still calling for Molly, almost unconsciously raised his head. He had fallen on his side, but had turned over in the instant before losing consciousness; and as Nell lifted his head she felt something wet trickle over her hand, and knew that it was blood.

She was very much frightened—with the exception of Dick's boyish falls and cuts, it was the first accident at which she had "assisted"—and she had never longed for any one as she longed for Molly. But neither Molly nor any one else came, and Nell, in a helpless, dazed kind of fashion, wiped the blood from the wound.

Then suddenly she thought of water, and setting his head down as gently as she could, she ran to the stream, saturated her handkerchief, and, returning, took his head on her lap again, and bathed his forehead.

While she was doing this she recovered her presence of mind sufficiently to look at him with something like the desire to know what he was like; and, with all a woman's quickness of perception, saw that he was extremely good-looking; that he was rather dark than fair; that though he was young—twenty-nine, thirty, flashed through her mind—the hair on his temples was faintly flecked with gray.

But something more than the masculine beauty of the face struck her, struck her vaguely, and that was the air of distinction which she had noticed in his bearing as he came down the road, and an expression of weariness in the faint lines about the mouth and eyes.

She was aware, without knowing why, that he was extremely well dressed; she saw that the ungloved hand was long and thin—the hand of a well-bred man—and that everything about him indicated wealth and the gentleman.

All these observations required but a second or two—a man would only have got at them after an hour—and, almost before they were made, he opened his eyes with the usual dazed and puzzled expression which an individual wears when he has been knocked out of time and is coming back to consciousness.

As his eyes opened, Nell noticed that they were dark—darker than they should have been to match his hair—and that they were anything but commonplace ones. He looked up at her for an instant or two, then muttered something under his breath—Nell was almost certain that he swore—and aloud, in the toneless voice of the newly conscious, said:

"I came off, didn't I?"

"Yes," said Nell.

She neither blushed nor looked shy. Indeed, she was too frightened, too absorbed by her desire for his recovery to remember herself, or the fact that this strange man's head was lying on her knee.

"I must have been unconscious," he said, almost to himself. "Yes, I've struck my head."

Then he got to his feet and stood looking at her; and his face was, if anything, whiter than it had been.

"I'm very sorry. Permit me to apologize, for I must have frightened you awfully. And"—he looked at her dress, upon which was a large wet patch where his head had rested—"and I've spoiled your dress. In short, I've made a miserable nuisance of myself."

Nell passed his apology by.

"Are you hurt?" she asked anxiously.

"No; I think not," he replied. "I can't think how I managed to come off; I don't usually make such an ass of myself."

He went for his hat, but as he stooped to pick it up he staggered, and Nell ran to him and caught his arm.

"You are hurt!" she said. "I—I was afraid so!"

"I'm giddy, that's all, I think," he said; but his lips closed tightly after his speech, and they twitched at the corners. "I expect my horse is more damaged than I am," he added, and he walked, very slowly, to where the animal stood looking from side to side with a startled air.

"Yes; knees cut. Poor old chap! It was my fault—my fau——"

He stopped, and put his hand to his head as if he were confused.

Nell went and stood close by him, with a vague kind of idea that he was going to fall and that she might help him, support him.

"You are in pain?" she asked, her brow wrinkled with her anxiety, her eyes darkened with her womanly sympathy and pity.

"Yes," he admitted frankly. "I've knocked my head, and"—he touched his arm—"and, yes, I'm afraid I've broken my arm."

"Oh!"—cried Nell, startled and aghast—"oh! you must come into the house at once—at once."

He glanced at the cottage.

"Your house?"

"Yes," said Nell. "Oh, come, please. You may faint again——"

"Oh, no, I shan't."

"But you may—you may! Take my arm; lean on me——"

He took her arm, but did not lean on her, and he smiled down at her.

"I don't look it, but I weigh nearly twelve stone, and I should bear you down," he said.

"I'm stronger than I look," said Nell. "Please come!"

"I'll put the bridle over the gate first," he said.

"No, no; I will do it. Lean against the gate while I go."

He rested one hand on the gate. She got the horse—he came as quietly as his master had done—and hitched the bridle on the post; then she drew the man's arm within hers, and led him into the house and into the drawing-room.

"Sit down," she said; "lean back. I won't be a moment. Oh, where is Molly? But perhaps I'd better not leave you."

"I'm all right. I assure you that I've no intention of fainting again," he said; and there was something like a touch of irritation in his tone.

Nell rang the bell and stood looking down at him anxiously. There was not a sign of self-consciousness or embarrassment in her face or manner. She was still thinking only of him.

"I'm ashamed of myself for giving you so much trouble," he said.

"It is no trouble. Why should you be ashamed? Oh, Molly! don't cry out or scream—it is all right! Be quiet now, Molly! This gentleman has been thrown from his horse, and——Oh, bring me some brandy; and, Molly, don't tell—don't frighten mamma."

Molly, with her mouth still wide open, ran out of the room, and Nell's eyes returned to the man.

He sat gazing at the carpet for a while, his brow knit with a frown, as if he found the whole affair a hideous bore, his injured arm across his knee. There was no deprecating smile of the nervous man; he made no more apologies, and it seemed to Nell that he had quite forgotten her, and was only desirous of getting rid of her and the situation generally. But he looked up as Molly came fluttering in with the brandy; and as he took the glass from Nell's hand—for the first time it shook a little—he said:

"Thanks—thanks very much. I'm all right now, and I'll hasten to take myself off."

He rose as he spoke, then his hand went out to the sofa as if in search of support, and with an articulate though audible "Damn!" he sank down again.

"I'm afraid I'll have to wait for a few minutes," he said, in a tone of annoyance. "I can't think what's the matter with me, but I feel as giddy and stupid as an owl. I'll be all right presently. Is the inn near here?"

"No," said Nell; "the inn is a long way from here; too far——"

He did not let her finish, but rather impatiently cut in with:

"Oh, but there must be some place where I can go——"

"You must not think of moving yet," she said. "I don't know much—I have not seen many accidents—but I am sure that you have hurt yourself; and you say that you have broken your arm?"

"I'm afraid so, confound it! I beg your pardon. I'll get to the inn—I have not broken my leg, and can walk well enough—and see a doctor."

Mrs. Lorton's step was heard in the passage, and the voice of that lady was heard before she appeared in the doorway, demanding, in an injured tone:

"Eleanor, what does this mean? Why do you want brandy, and at this time of the day? Are you ill? I have always told you that some day you would suffer from this continual rushing about——"

Then she stopped and stared at the two, and her hand went up to her hair with the gesture of the weakly vain woman.

"Who is it, Nell? What does it mean?" she demanded.

The man rose and bowed, and his appearance, his self-possession and well-bred bow impressed Mrs. Lorton at once.

"I beg your pardon," she said, in her sweetest and most ingratiating manner, with a suggestion of the simper which used to be fashionable when she was a girl. "There has been an accident, I see. Are you very much hurt? Eleanor, pray do not stand like a thing of stock or stone; pray, do not be so useless and incapable."

Nell blushed and looked round helplessly.

"Please sit down," went on Mrs. Lorton. "Eleanor, let me beg of you to collect your senses. Get that cushion—sit down. Let me place this at your back. Do you feel faint? My smelling salts, Eleanor!"

The man's lips tightened, and the frown darkened the whole of his face. Nell knew that he was swearing under his breath and wishing Mrs. Lorton and herself at the bottom of the sea.

"No, no!" he said, evidently struggling with his irritation and his impatience of the whole scene. "I'm not at all faint. I've fallen from my horse, and I think I've smashed my arm, that's all."

"All!" echoed Mrs. Lorton, in accents of profound sympathy and anxiety. "Oh, dear, dear! Nell, we must send for the doctor. Will you not put your feet up on the sofa? It is such a relief to lie at full length."

He rose with a look of determination in his dark eyes.

"Thank you very much, madame, but I cannot consent to give you any further trouble. I am quite capable of walking to anywhere, and I will——" He broke off with an exclamation and sank down again. "I must be worse than I thought," he said suddenly, "and I must ask you to put up with me for a little while—half an hour."

Mrs Lorton crossed the room with the air of an empress, or a St. Teresa on the verge of a great mission, and rang the bell.

"I cannot permit you to leave this house until you have recovered—quite recovered," she said, in a stately fashion. "Molly, get the spare room ready for this gentleman. Eleanor, you might assist, I think! I will see that the sheets are properly aired—nothing is more important in such a case—and we will send for the doctor while you are retiring."

Molly plunged out, followed by Nell, and Mrs. Lorton seated herself opposite the injured man, and, folding her hands, gazed at him as if she were solely accountable for his welfare.

"I'm very much obliged to you, madame," he said, at last, and by no means amiably. "May I ask to whom I am indebted for so much—kindness?"

"My name is Lorton," said the dear lady, as if she had picked him up and brought him in and given him brandy; "but I am a Wolfer."

He looked at her as if he thought she were mad, and Mrs. Lorton hastened to explain.

"I am a near relative of Lord Wolfer."

"Oh, yes, yes; I beg your pardon," he said, with a touch of relief. "I didn't understand for a moment."

"Perhaps you know Lord Wolfer?" she asked sweetly.

He shook his head.

"I've heard of him."

"Of course," she assented blandly. "He is sufficiently well known, not to say famous. And your name—if I may ask?"

He frowned, and was silent for an instant.

"Vernon," he said reluctantly, "Drake Vernon."

"Indeed! The name seems familiar to me. Of the Northumberland Vernons, I suppose?"

"No," he replied, rather shortly.

"No? There are some Vernons in Warwickshire, I remember," she suggested.

He shook his head.

"I'm not connected with any of the Vernons," he said with a grim courtesy.

Mrs. Lorton looked rather disappointed, but only for a moment; for, foolish as she was, she knew a gentleman when she saw one, and this Mr. Vernon, though not one of the Vernons, was evidently a gentleman and a man of position. She smiled at him graciously.

"Sometimes one scarcely knows with whom one is connected," she said. "If you will excuse me, I will go and see if your room is prepared. We have only one servant—now," she sighed plaintively, "and my daughter is young and thoughtless."

"She is not the latter, at any rate," he said, but coldly enough. "Your daughter displayed extraordinary presence of mind——"

"My stepdaughter, I ought to explain," broke in Mrs. Lorton, who could not endure the praise of any other than herself. "My late husband—I am a widow, Mr. Vernon—left me his two children as a trust, a sacred trust, which I hope I have discharged to the best of my ability. I will rejoin you presently."

He rose and bowed, and then leaned back and closed his eyes, and swore gently but thoroughly.

Mrs. Lorton returned in a few minutes with Molly.

"If you will come now? We have sent for the doctor."

"Thank you, thank you!" he said, and he went upstairs with them; but he would not permit them to assist him to take off his coat, and sat on the edge of the bed waiting with a kind of impatient patience for the doctor.

By sheer good luck it was just about the time old Doctor Spence made his daily appearance in Shorne Mills, and Nell, running up to the crossway, caught him as he was ambling along on his old gray cob.

"Eh? what is it, my dear? That monkey of a brother got into mischief again?" he said, laying his hand on her shoulder. "What? Stranger? Broke his arm? Come, come; you're frightened and upset. No need, no need! What's a broken arm! If it had been his neck, now!"

"I'm not frightened, and I'm not upset!" said Nell indignantly, but with a smile. "I'm out of breath with running."

"And out of color, too, Nell. No need to run back, my dear. I'll hurry up and see what's wrong."

He spoke to the cob, who understood every word and touch of his master, and jolted down the steep road, and Nell followed slowly. She was rather pale, as he had noticed, but she was not frightened. In all her uneventful life nothing so exciting, so disturbing had happened as this accident. It was difficult to realize it, to realize that a great strong man had been cast helpless at her feet, that she had had his head on her lap; she looked down at the patch on her dress and shuddered. Was she glad or sorry that she had chanced to be near when he fell? As she asked herself the question her conscience smote her. What a question to arise in her mind! Of course she should be glad, very glad, to have been able to help him. Then the man's face rose before her, and appealed to her by its whiteness, by the weary, wistful lines about the lips and eyes.

"I wonder who he is?" she asked herself, conscious that she had never seen any one like him, that he was in some way different to any one of the men she had hitherto met.

As she walked slowly, thoughtfully down the road, a strange feeling came upon her; it was as if she had touched, if only with the finger tips, the fringe of the great unknown world.

The doctor, breaking away from the lengthy recountal of Mrs. Lorton, went upstairs to the spare room, where still sat Mr. Drake Vernon on the edge of the bed, very white, but very self-contained.

"How do you do, doctor?" he said quietly. "I've come a cropper and knocked my head and broken some of my bones. If you'll be so good——"

"Take off your coat. My good sir, why didn't you let them help you to undress?" broke in the old man, with the curtness of the country doctor, who, as a rule, is no respecter of persons.

"I've given these good people trouble enough already," was the reply. "Thanks; no, you don't hurt me—not more than can be helped. And I'm not going to faint. Thanks, thanks."

He got undressed and into bed, and the doctor "went over" him. As he got to the injured arm, Mr. Vernon drew his signet ring from his finger and slipped it in his pocket.

"Rather nasty knock on the head; broken arm—compound fracture, unfortunately."

"Oh! just patch me up so that I can get away at once, will you?"

The old man shook his head.

"Sorry, Mr. Vernon; but that is rather too large an order. Frankly, you have knocked yourself about rather more seriously than you think. The head——And you are not a particularly 'good patient,' I'm afraid. Been living rather—rapidly, eh?"

Vernon nodded.

"I've been living all the time," was the grim assent.

"I thought so. And you pay the usual penalty. Nature is inexorable, and never lets a man off with the option of a fine. If one of my fishermen had injured himself as you have done, I could let him do what he pleased; but you will have to remain here, in this room—or, at any rate, in this house—for some little time."

"Impossible!" said Vernon. "I am a stranger to these people. I can't trespass on their good nature; I've been nuisance enough already——"

"Oh, nonsense," retorted the doctor calmly. "We are not savages in these parts. They'd enjoy nursing and taking care of you. The good lady of the house is just dying for some little excitement like this. It's a quiet place; you couldn't be in a better; and whether you could or couldn't doesn't matter, for you've got to stay here for the present, unless you want brain fever and the principal part in a funeral."

Drake Vernon set his lips tight, then shrugged his shoulders, and in silence watched the doctor's preparations for setting the arm.

It is a painful operation, but during its accomplishment the patient gave no sign, either facial or vocal, of the agony endured. The doctor softly patted the splintered arm and looked at him keenly.

"Been in the service, Mr. Vernon?" he said.

Vernon glanced at him sharply.

"How did you know that?" he demanded reluctantly.

"By the way you held your arm," replied the doctor. "Was in the service myself, when a young army doctor. Oh, don't be afraid; I am not going to ask questions; and—and, like my tribe, I am as discreet as an owl. Now, I'll just give you a sleeping draft, and will look in in the evening, to see if it has taken effect; and to-morrow, if you haven't brain fever, you will be on the road to recovery. I'm candid, because I want you to understand that if you worry yourself——"

"Make the draft a strong one; I'm accustomed to narcotics," interrupted Vernon quietly.

"Opium, or chloral, or what?"

"Chloral," was the reply.

"Right. Comfortable?"

"Oh, yes. Wait a moment. I was hunting with the Devon and Somerset to-day. I know scarcely any one—not one of the people, I may say; but—well, I don't want a fuss. Perhaps you won't mind keeping my accident, and my presence here to yourself?"

"Certainly," said the doctor. "There is no friend—relative—you would like sent for?"

"Good Lord, no!" responded Mr. Vernon. "I shall have to get away in a day or two."

"Will you?" grunted the old doctor to himself, as he went down the stairs.

The day passed slowly. The little house was filled with an air of suppressed excitement, which was kept going by Mrs. Lorton, who, whenever Nell or Molly moved, appeared from unexpected places, attired in a tea gown, and hissed a rebuking and warning "Hush!" which penetrated to the remotest corner of the house, and would certainly have disturbed the patient but for the double dose of sulphonal which the doctor; had administered.

About the time she expected Dick to return, Nell went down the road to meet him, fearing that he might enter singing or whistling; and when she saw him lounging up the hill, with a string of fish in his hand, she ran to him, and, catching his arm, began to tell her story in a whisper, as if the injured Mr. Vernon were within hearing.

Dick stared, and emitted a low whistle.

"'Pon my word, you've been a-going of it, Nell! Sounds like a play: 'The Mysterious Stranger and the Village Maiden.' Scene one. Enter the stranger: 'My horse is weary; no human habitation nigh. Where to find a resting place for my tired steed and my aching head! Ah! what is this? A simple child of Nature. I will seek direction at her hands.' Horse takes fright; mysterious stranger is thrown. Maiden falls on her knees: 'Ah, Heaven! 'tis he! 'tis he!'"

Nell laughed, but her face crimsoned.

"Dick, don't be an idiot, if you can help it. I know it is difficult——"

"Spare your blushes, my child," he retorted blandly. "The Mysterious S. will turn out to be a commercial traveler with a wife and seven children. But, Nell, what does mamma say?"

"She likes it," said Nell, with a smile. "She is happier and more interested than I have ever seen her."

Dick struck an attitude and his forehead.

"Can it be—oh, can it be that the romance will end another way? Are we going to lose our dear mamma? Grateful stranger—love at first sight——"

"Dick, you are the worst kind of imbecile! He is years younger than mamma—young enough to be her son. Now, Dick, dry up, and don't make a noise. He is really ill. I know it by the way the old doctor smiles. He always smiles and grins when the case is serious. You'll be quiet, Dick, dear?"

"This tender solicitude for the sufferer touches me deeply," he whimpered, mopping his eyes. "Oh, yes, I'll be quiet, Nell. Much as I love excitement, I'm not anxious for a funeral, and a bereaved and heartbroken sister. Shall I take my boots off before entering the abode of sickness, or shall I walk in on my head?"

The day passed. Dick, driven almost mad by the enforced quietude, and the incessant "Hushes!" of Mrs. Lorton, betook himself to his tool shed to mend his fishing rod—and cut his fingers—and then to bed. Molly went to the sick room in the capacity of nurse, and Mrs. Lorton, after desiring everybody that she should be called if "a change took place," retired to the rest earned by pleasurable excitement; and Nell stole past the spare-room door to her nest under the roof.

As she undressed slowly, she paused now and again to listen. All was quiet; the injured man was still sleeping. She went to the open window and looked out seaward. Something was stirring within her, something that was like the faint motion of the air before a storm. Is it possible that we have some premonition of the first change in our lives; the change which is to alter the course of every feeling, every action? She knew too little of life or the world to ask herself the question; but she was conscious of a sensation of unrest, of disquietude. She could not free herself from the haunting presence of the handsome face, of the dark and weary, wistful eyes. The few sentences he had spoken kept repeating themselves in her ear, striking on her brain with soft persistence. The very name filled her thoughts. "Drake Vernon, Drake Vernon!"

At last, with an impatient movement, with a blush of shame for the way in which her mind was dwelling on him, she left the window and fell on her knees at the narrow bed to say her prayers.

But his personality intruded even on her devotions, and, half unconsciously, she added to her simple formula a supplication for his recovery.

Then she got into bed and fell asleep. But in a very little while she started awake, seeing the horse shy and fall, feeling the man's head upon her lap. She sat up and listened. His room was beneath hers—the cottage was built in the usual thin and unsubstantial fashion—and every sound from the room below rose to hers. She heard him moan; once, twice; then his voice, thick and husky, called for water.

She listened. The faint cry rose again and again. She could not endure it, and she got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and slipped down the stairs. She could hear the voice more plainly now, and the cry was still, "Water! water!"

She opened the door, and, pausing a moment, her face crimson, stole toward the bed. Molly was in her chair, with her head lolling over the back, as if it were a guillotine, her huge mouth wide open, fast asleep.

Nell stood and looked down at the unconscious man. The dark-brown hair was tangled, the white face drawn with pain, the lips dry with fever, one hand, clenched, opening and shutting spasmodically, on the counterpane.

That divine pity which only a woman can feel filled and overran her heart. She poured some water into a glass and set it to his lips. He could not drink lying down, and, with difficulty, she raised his head on her bosom. He drank long and greedily; then, as she slowly—dare one write "reluctantly"?—lowered his head to the pillow, he muttered:

"Thanks, thanks, Luce! That was good!"