“By all the gods of Greece! you have had a flying trip of it!” cried Dr. Asbury, with one foot on the carriage step and both hands extended, while his gray hair hung in confusion about his face.  He had followed them for at least half a dozen blocks, and was pale with anxiety.

“See about Cornelia,” said Beulah, seating herself for the first time and twisting up the veil of hair which swept round her form.

“Cornelia has fainted!  Halloo, there! some water! quick!” said the doctor, stepping into the carriage and attempting to lift the motionless figure.  But Cornelia opened her eyes, and answered unsteadily: 

“No! carry me home!  Dr. Asbury, take me home!”

The brilliant eyes closed, a sort of spasm distorted her features, and she sank back once more, rigid and seemingly lifeless.  Dr. Asbury took the reins firmly in his hands, seated himself, and, speaking gently to the trembling horses, started homeward.  They plunged violently at first, but he used the whip unsparingly, and in a few moments they trotted briskly along.  Mrs. Graham and her niece had not yet reached home, but Mr. Graham met the carriage at the door, with considerable agitation and alarm in his usually phlegmatic countenance.  As Cornelia’s colorless face met his view, he threw up his hands, staggered back, and exclaimed: 

“My God! is she dead?  I knew it would end this way some day!”

“Nonsense, Graham!  She is frightened out of her wits—­that is all.  These Yankee horses of yours have been playing the very deuce.  Clear the way there, all of you!”

Lifting Cornelia in his strong arms, Dr. Asbury carried her up to her own room and placed her on a sofa.  Having known her from childhood, and treated her so often in similar attacks, he immediately administered some medicine, and ere long had the satisfaction of seeing the rigid aspect leave her face.  She sat up, and, without a word, began to take off her kid gloves, which fitted tightly.  Suddenly looking up at her father, who was anxiously regarding her, she said abruptly: 

“There are no more like her.  She kept me from making a simpleton of myself.”

“Whom do you mean, my dear?”

“Whom? whom?  Why, Beulah Benton, of course!  Where is she?  Come out of that corner, you quaint, solemn statue!” She held out her hand, and a warm, glad smile broke over her pallid face as Beulah approached her.

“You certainly created a very decided sensation.  Beulah made quite a passable Medea, with her inky hair trailing over the back of the seat, and her little hands grasping the reins with desperate energy.  By Phoebus! you turned that corner at the bank like an electric bolt.  Shake hands, Beulah!  After this you will do in any emergency.”  The doctor looked at her with an expression of paternal pride and affection.

“I feel very grateful to you,” began Mr. Graham; but Beulah cut short his acknowledgments by saying hastily: