Mrs. Vance read in the daily papers an account on the inquest that had been held over the dead bodies of her two victims.

She was surprised and troubled at first because her scheme for burning the house down and destroying the bodies had failed, but as she saw that no clew to the perpetrator of the poisoning had been discovered, her courage rose in proportion.

"I am free now," she thought, with a guilty thrill of triumph. "The two old harpies who preyed upon me are dead, and their secret with them. No one will ever discover my agency in their death. Suspicion would never dream of fastening upon me. Who would believe that these white hands could be stained with crime?"

She held them up, admiring their delicate whiteness and the costly rings that glittered upon them, then went to the mirror and looked at her handsome reflection.

"I am beautiful," she said to herself with a proud smile. "There is no reason why I should not win Lancelot Darling. A woman can marry whom she will when she is gifted with beauty and grace like mine. And I will yet be Lancelot Darling's wife. I solemnly swear that I will!"

In the exuberance of her triumph and her pride in herself, she ordered the carriage and went out to spend the money she had rescued from Peter and Haidee in some new feminine adornment wherewith to deck her beauty for the eyes of the obdurate young millionaire.

Time flew past and brought the cold and freezing days of November. The latter part of it was exceedingly cold, and snow covered the ground with a thick, white crust.

Lancelot Darling came into the drawing-room one day where Ada and the beautiful widow sat by the glowing fire, Mrs. Vance busy as usual with some trifle of fancy work, and Ada yawning over the latest novel. They welcomed him without surprise or formality, for he had fallen into a habit of dropping in familiarly and with the freedom of a brother. Mrs. Vance, after the first few weeks of affected shyness and prudence, had resumed her old frank relations with Lance, though but feebly seconded by that young man, who had not recovered from the shock of her unwomanly avowal of love for himself.

"Well, Ada, how does the novel please you?" he inquired, looking at the book that she had laid aside.

"Either the author is very dull, or I am out of spirits," she returned, smiling, "for I have failed to become interested in the woes of the heroine, this morning. Have you read it, Lance?"

"Oh, yes, a week ago," he answered, carelessly. "I found it readable and interesting. I dare say you are in fault to-day, not the author. You are out of tune."

"Perhaps so," said Ada, "but what am I to do about it? Can you suggest a remedy?"

"The sleighing is very fine just now," he returned. "It thrills one very pleasurably. Have you tried it?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Vance and myself have been out twice with papa this week."

"By daylight?" he queried.

"Yes, by daylight," she answered.

"The latest sensation, however, is sleigh-riding by moonlight," rejoined Lance. "There is a full moon, you know, and the nights are superb. Parties go out to Dabney's hotel—it is far out on the suburbs—and have hot coffee and oysters by way of refreshment, you know—then they return to the city, getting home near midnight usually. Altogether it is very exhilarating."

"You speak from experience, I presume?" said Ada.

"Yes. I tried it myself last night, being induced thereto by the glowing representations of two young friends of mine. I found the drive quite as bracing and delightful as they described it. I should be tempted to try it again to-night if I could persuade you, Ada, and Mrs. Vance to accompany me."

"Why, that would be delightful," said Ada, clapping her hands, with the pleasure of a child over a new toy. "I think that is just what I am needing—a new sensation."

"You consent, then?" said he, smiling at her pretty enthusiasm.

"Oh, yes, if Mrs. Vance will go, too. Will you do so?" inquired she, turning to the lady, who had as yet taken no part in the conversation.

"Do you wish to go very much?" inquired she, looking up from her work with a very pleasant smile.

"I think I should enjoy it very much."

"I don't know that I care for it very much," said the widow, with a light sigh; "but I will go to please you, Ada."

"It is settled then," said Lance. "We will go, and I think I can promise you both a very enjoyable evening."

It could not fail to be otherwise, Mrs. Vance thought to herself, with a thrill of pleasure at the knowledge that she would be seated beside him for hours, hearing his musical voice and looking into his handsome face.

"If it were not for that hateful Ada going, too," she said to herself, "what a chance I could have to make an impression on his heart!"

But regret it as she would she could not prevent Ada from going, for she saw plainly enough that the excursion was planned for the young girl's pleasure, not her own. She was merely secondary in the affair. A thrill of jealous pain cut through her heart like a knife, and the furtive glance of hatred she cast upon Ada boded no good to the lovely and high-spirited young girl.

Night came, and Lance appeared with his elegant little sleigh. The ladies, comfortably arrayed in sealskin cloaks and hats, were helped into the sleigh, the warm buffalo robes were tucked around them, and taking the reins in hand, Lance started out at a dashing pace over the smooth and shining crust of snow.

The moon shone gloriously, making the ground look as if paved with sparkling gems, the silver bells rang out a merry chime, and the hearts of all three seemed to fill with pleasure at the joyous sound, and the breath of winter seemed like a caress as it sighed past their warm and glowing cheeks.

Numbers of merry pleasure-seekers were out enjoying the fine sleighing and the beautiful night. Gay words and happy laughter rang out from youthful voices, and many a heart beat high with hope and love.

Mrs. Vance and Ada enjoyed their moonlight ride very much, and found their appetite sharpened for the delicious supper which was ready for them when they arrived at their destination.

They met several of their friends at Dabney's hotel on the same pleasant mission as themselves, and enjoyed an hour of social converse before starting on their homeward way. They were the last to leave.

"It has been very pleasant," said Ada, impulsively, as Lance tucked the buffalo robes around them preparatory to starting.

"I am glad you have enjoyed it," answered the young man, touching up his spirited horses and starting off in gallant style.

They had gone about half a mile when, in turning a corner, the mettlesome young horses became suddenly frightened at something, and reared upward, nearly upsetting the sleigh and its occupants. With a grasp of steel, Lance tried to bring them down upon their feet, but succeeded only to see them start away at a maddened and furious pace, entirely beyond his control, while shriek after shriek of terror burst from the two ladies as they clung to Lance.

Impeded by the clinging arms of the two, and distressed beyond measure by their frightened screams, it was impossible for Lance to do anything to help them. Though he held on to the reins so tightly that his hands were wounded and bleeding, his utmost strength was insufficient to arrest the speed of the horses. They ran faster and faster, as though incited to greater speed by the screams of the women. At length, with a frantic effort, they cleared themselves of the sleigh and bounded away, leaving the dainty vehicle overturned and broken, and its occupants reposing in a snow-drift.

Lance was the first to lift himself up and look about. He felt as if every bone in his body were broken, so swift had been the impetus that hurled him out; but repressing his own pain he hastened to his two companions.

"Ada, Mrs. Vance, are either of you hurt?" he inquired, anxiously.

Mrs. Vance was already on her feet, shaking the loose snow from her hair and dress.

"I believe I am quite uninjured beyond the shock of the fall," said she. "Are you, Lance?"

"Oh! I am all right," said he; "but, Ada, my dear girl, are you hurt?"

Ada answered his query with a moan of pain, but made no effort to rise. He bent over her and lifted the slight form in his strong arms.

"Can you stand?" he inquired, anxiously.

"Oh, no—no!" she moaned. "My ankle seems to be twisted or sprained, and my head struck something hard like a rock in falling. It aches dreadfully."

She burst into tears, sobbing aloud in her pain. Lance looked about him in despair.

There he was in the road, several miles from the city, with two helpless females to take care of, and his broken sleigh lying useless, the horses quite out of sight. Worse than all, Ada lying helpless in his arms, unable to stand or walk, and moaning like a child in her acute suffering.

"This is terrible," he said. "What can we do, Mrs. Vance?"

"Nothing," said she, coldly, maddened by the sight of Ada's head resting against his shoulder, "except to remain here and freeze to death waiting for some other vehicle to happen along and take us home."

"Something may happen along at any minute," he answered, encouragingly. "There are numbers of people out to-night as well as ourselves."

"It is quite probable that we are the last on the road," said she doubtfully. "Indeed, I believe that we are. If Ada were unhurt I should suggest that we walk home, or back to the hotel at least. Ada, my dear, rouse yourself and do not weep so childishly. Do you not see what a plight you are putting us in? I am quite sure you can walk a little if you will only try to make an effort."

Thus adjured, Ada lifted herself and tried to put her foot on the ground and stand up.

"It is useless," said she, falling back with a sharp cry. "My ankle is too badly hurt. I cannot stand upon it."

Ere she ceased to speak, the welcome tinkle of sleigh-bells in the distance saluted their ears.

"Thank Heaven!" ejaculated Lance, "we have but a moment to wait. Relief is at hand."

"How fortunate!" chimed in Mrs. Vance, recovering her good humor at the prospect of help in their extremity.

Directly a splendid little sleigh drove up to them, stopped, and the single occupant, a handsome young man, jumped out.

"What is the trouble here?" he inquired, in a genial, friendly voice. "Why, upon my word," with a start of surprise, "it's you, Lance, is it not?"

"Yes, it is I, Phil, and I was never so glad to see you before in my life," answered Lance, in a tone of relief. "Mrs. Vance, Miss Lawrence, this is my best friend, Philip St. John."

"You have met with an accident?" said Mr. St. John, after briefly acknowledging this off-hand presentation to the ladies.

"Yes, my horses ran off and overturned the sleigh, pitching us into the road. Mrs. Vance and myself luckily escaped unhurt, but Miss Lawrence has sustained an injury that incapacitates her for walking."

"Perhaps I can help you," said the new-comer, cordially. "My sleigh is very small, but it will be roomy enough to accommodate one of these ladies, I am sure. Now, if Miss Lawrence will trust herself to my care, I will take her home immediately. And, Lance, if you and Mrs. Vance can stand a walk of a mile back to Dabney's hotel, you will find that they keep a good trap there and you can get it to return in."

"What do you say to my friend's plan, Ada?" asked Lance, looking down at her as she leaned upon his arm. "Will you allow Mr. St. John to take you home? I assure you he will take the kindest care of you."

"I accept his offer with thanks," said Ada, gratefully, "but it seems selfish to leave Mrs. Vance and you to trudge back to the hotel on foot."

"My dear child, pray do not distress yourself on that score," said Mrs. Vance, in her kindest tone. "I feel so thankful for this timely assistance in your behalf that I shall not mind the long walk at all."

"It is the best thing they can do, Miss Lawrence," said Mr. St. John, respectfully. "They would freeze if they remained here waiting till I sent a conveyance out from the city, but if they walk back to the hotel they can get Dabney's sleigh and follow us directly."

Ada was accordingly lifted into the very small sleigh of Mr. St. John; the robes from Lance's useless sleigh were brought and tucked around her, and in a minute she was off like the wind for home, feeling in spite of her pain a very shy consciousness of her proximity to the handsome young stranger.

Lancelot and his fair companion in distress set off rather soberly on their return to Dabney's hotel.