It was eleven o’clock, but Beulah was writing in her own room; and through the open window heard the thundering tramp, the rattle among the bricks, Proctor’s furious curses, and surmised that some accident had happened.  She sprang to the window, saw the buggy just as it was wheeled on, and hoped nothing was hurt.  But Charon, who slept on the portico, leaped over the paling, ran around the bricks, and barked alarmingly.  She unlocked the door, saw that no one was passing, and, opening the little gate, looked out.  Charon stood watching a prostrate form, and she fearlessly crossed the street and bent over the body.  One arm was crushed beneath him; the other thrown up over the face.  She recognized the watch chain, which was of a curious pattern; and, for an instant, all objects swam before her.  She felt faint; her heart seemed to grow icy and numb; but, with a great effort, she moved the arm, and looked on the face gleaming in the moonlight.  Trembling like a weed in a wintry blast, she knelt beside him.  He was insensible, but not dead; though it was evident there must have been some severe contusion about the head.  She saw that no time should be lost, and, running into one of the neighboring houses, knocked violently.  The noise of the horse and buggy had already aroused the inmates, and very soon the motionless form was borne into Beulah’s little cottage and placed on a couch, while a messenger was dispatched for Dr. Asbury.  Eugene remained just as they placed him; and, kneeling beside him, Beulah held his cold hands in hers, and watched, in almost breathless anxiety, for some return of animation.  She knew that he was intoxicated; that this, and this only, caused the accident; and tears of shame and commiseration trickled down her cheeks.  Since their parting interview, previous to his marriage, they had met but once, and then in silence, beside Cornelia in her dying hour.  It was little more than a year since she had risked his displeasure, and remonstrated with him on his ruinous course; and that comparatively short period had wrought painful changes in his once noble, handsome face.  She had hoped that Cornelia’s dying prayer would save him; but now, alas, it was too apparent that the appeal had been futile.  She knew not that his wife was absent, and determined to send for her as soon as possible.  The long hour of waiting seemed an eternity; but at last Dr. Asbury came, and carefully examined the bruised limbs.  Beulah grasped his arm.

“Oh! will he die?”

“I don’t know, child; this arm is badly fractured, and I am afraid there is a severe injury on the back of the head.  It won’t do to move him home, so send Hal in from my buggy to help put him in bed.  Have me some bandages at once, Beulah.”

As they carried him into Mrs. Williams’ room and prepared to set the fractured arm, he groaned, and for a moment struggled, then relapsed into a heavy stupor.  Dr. Asbury carefully straightened and bandaged the limb, and washed the blood from his temples, where a gash had been inflicted in the fall.