"I assure you we are now perfectly safe, Miss Mayhew," he said; "and let me congratulate you that your self-control prevented you from leaving the stage, for if you had done so you would undoubtedly have been greatly injured."
"Where—where are—the horses?" she faltered.
"I really do not know! They have disappeared. The stage struck a tree, and the brutes broke away. They will probably gallop home to the alarm and excitement of every one about the hotel. Pray compose yourself. The house is not far away, and we can soon reach it if you are not very much hurt."
"Are you sure the danger is all over?"
"Yes; this is now not the slightest chance of a tragedy."
There must have been a faint twinkle in his eye, for she exclaimed, passionately:
"The whole thing has been a comedy to you, and I half believe you brought it all about to annoy me."
"You do me great injustice, Miss Mayhew," said Van Berg, warmly.
"Here we are sitting in this horrid old stage by the roadside," she resumed, in tones of strong vexation. "Was there ever anything more absurd and ridiculous than it has all been! I am mortified beyond expression, and suppose I shall never hear the last of it," and she burst into a hysterical passion of tears.
"Miss Mayhew," said Van Berg hastily, "you certainly must realize that we have passed through very great peril together, and if you think me capable of saying a word about this episode that is not to your credit, you were never more mistaken in your life."