CHAPTER XV.
AN ACCIDENT. A BEAUTIFUL FAMILIAR FACE.
"You never can make a crab walk straight."
—Aristoparus.
Two years have rolled past since men in business circles had been called upon to lament the departure of Edward Litchfield and his ill gotten gains.
"What makes Nellie so restless? Is the harness on them all right?" Cyril Fanchon surveys his span of beautiful black horses rather anxiously.
"She's all right, sir, just a trick that of hers."
Fanchon gets in and slams too the door. Certainly he never remembers the horses to act so before; the carriage rocks wildly from side to side. Heavens! they are beyond the man's control, they are running away. Loud cries of "stop them, stop them," rings in his ears, there is a sudden plunge, a crash, and all is still. Fortunately there was a doctor on the spot, he orders the unconscious man to be taken into the convent just opposite. The sisters were good at nursing, it could have happened nowhere more desirable. The dead leaves lay thick and yellow on the ground around the convent of St. Marguerite, the cruel winds have lately robbed the trees of all their pretty green foliage, leaving them grim and leafless, tossing their gaunt limbs sadly with the autumn's blast. The air is chilly; there is a decided sense of frost in the atmosphere. Sister Jean hurries in at a small side door; she is very tired, for she has been sitting up all night with a sick woman.
"Sister, there has been an accident; a man is hurt, he is here in room five; will you watch by him after you have rested?" says the Mother Superior, meeting her in the hall.