It was no fault of Giles that the linch-pin should come out of one of the wheels. He could do nothing, and the coach toppled heavily over on its side, dragging down the struggling horses with it. Giles himself was pitched into a bush; Clobery saved himself by an active spring, and hurried to extricate the young ladies and the weeping Phoebe through the window that was uppermost. When Lady Saxilby was got out it was found that she had hurt her shoulder severely, and they were obliged to carry her to the nearest shelter, a tumbledown farmhouse.
Giles went off on one of the horses to try and find a doctor, and Joan, hovering round her mother in great concern, heard her murmur in a tone of bitter distress:
"It may be too late now."
"Mother, dear, can I not do anything?" said Joan, earnestly.
Lady Saxilby looked at her hesitatingly.
"Joan, would you be afraid to go to Iver to-night by yourself?"
It would soon be dusk, but the girl, impressed, answered sturdily:
"No, mother; I will go."
"The pain gets worse," said Lady Saxilby, faintly; "put your ear close to my lips, Joan. You—you must try to save your father; now, listen."
Joan listened, and her face grew grave and eager. She understood now why someone in the secret ought to go to Iver as soon as possible.