him. It was simply one of those unpleasant details not affecting the
result, usually overlooked in feminine ethics.

For a moment Jeff sat pale and dumb, crushed under the ruins of his
pride and self-love. For a moment he hated Miss Mayfield, small and
triumphant! How she must have inwardly laughed at his speech that
morning! With what refined cruelty she had saved this evidence of his
humiliation, to work her vengeance on him now. He could not stand it!
He could not live under it! He would go back and sell the house--his
clothes--everything--to pay this wicked, heartless, cruel girl, that was
killing--yes, killing--

A strong hand took the swinging-lantern from his unsteady fingers, a
strong hand possessed itself of the papers and Miss Mayfield's note, a
strong arm was drawn around him,--for his figure was swaying to and fro,
his head was giddy, and his hat had fallen off,--and a strong voice,
albeit a little husky, whispered in his ear,--

"Easy, boy! easy on the down grade. It'll be all one in a minit."

Jeff tried to comprehend him, but his brain was whirling.

"Pull yourself together, Jeff!" said Bill, after a pause. "Thar! Look
yar!" he said suddenly. "Do you think you can drive SIX?"

The words recalled Jeff to his senses. Bill laid the six reins in his
hands. A sense of life, of activity, of POWER, came back to the young
man, as his fingers closed deliciously on the far-reaching, thrilling,
living leathern sinews that controlled the six horses, and seemed to
be instinct and magnetic with their bounding life. Jeff, leaning back