This, as she flitted by toward the door; and a pitying cloud just then hid the face of the August moon, and vailed from the glance of the poor young creature the white, frightened face of Maggie.

With what unutterable agony of fear did the family below wait and long for and dread the return of Dr. Downing, or some message from that dreadful room.  The moments that seemed hours to them dragged on, and no sound came to them.

“She has not fainted then,” muttered Ralph at last, “or he would have rung.  Ester, you know what Maggie said.  Could you not go to her?”

Ester cowered and shrunk.  “Oh, Ralph, don’t ask me.  I can not.”

Then they waited again in silence; and at last shivered with fear as Dr. Downing softly opened the door.  There were traces of deep emotion on his face, but just now it was wonderful for its calmness.

“She knows all,” he said, addressing Mr. Ried.  “And the widow’s God is hers.  Mrs. Ried, she makes special request that she need see no living soul to-night; and, indeed, I think it will be best.  And now, my friends, may I pray with you in this hour of trial.”

So while quick, skillful fingers prepared the sleeper in that front parlor for his long, long rest, a group such as had never bowed the knee together before, knelt in the room just across the hall, and amid tears and moans they were commended to the care of Him who waits to help us all.

By and by a solemn quiet settled down upon that strangely stricken household.  In the front parlor the folding doors were closed, and the angel of death kept guard over his quiet victim.  From the chamber overhead came forth no sound, and none knew save God how fared the struggle between despair and submission in that young heart.  In the sitting-room Ester waited breathlessly while Ralph gave the particulars, which she had not until now been able to hear.

“We were crossing just above the store; had nearly got across; he was just saying that his preparations were entirely perfected for a long absence.  ‘It is a long journey,’ he added, ’and if I never come back I have the satisfaction of thinking that I have left everything ready even for that.  It is well to be ready even for death, Ralph,’ he said, with one of his glorious smiles; ‘it makes life pleasanter.’  I don’t know how I can tell you the rest.”  And Ralph’s lips grew white and tremulous.  “Indeed, I hardly know how it was.  There was an old bent woman crossing just behind us, and there was a carriage, and a wretch of a drunken driver pushing his way through.  I don’t know how Foster came to look around, but he did, and said, ’There is my dear old lady behind us, Ralph; she ought not to be out with a mere child for a companion.’  And then he uttered an exclamation of terror, and sprang forward—­and I know nothing clearly that followed.  I saw him drag that old woman fairly from under the horses’ feet.  I heard the driver curse, and saw him strike his frightened horses, and they reared and plunged, and I saw him fall; but it all seemed to happen in one second of time—­and how I got him home, and got Dr. Archer, and kept it from Abbie, I don’t seem to know.  Oh God help my poor little fair darling.”  And Ralph choked and stopped, and wiped from his eyes great burning tears.