"What is't amiss, then?" she said, as she came up to the gate.

"Look _there_!" he answered, pointing down. "A poor tramp dead in the road!"

The good woman looked, started, and her healthy, red cheeks turned white.

"Oh, my Heavenly Father!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Who is't, Jerry?"

"How should I know, woman?" asked her husband. "I've but just stepped outside the gate and found her."

"And is she really, truly _dead_, Jerry?"

"She looks like it," he said. "But stoop down and feel of her heart, Jane. See if it beats."

The woman came out of the gate, and bending down, put her hand half-timorously inside of Queenie's cloak and felt her heart.

"Yes--no--yes, it does beat just the leastest bit," she said. "Poor creature! Take her up and carry her into the kitchen, Jerry. Perhaps we may revive her."

"That's like your good heart, Jane," said the farmer, as he lifted up the limp form and conveyed it into the kitchen.

A rosy, exceedingly pretty, dark-eyed girl who was busily frying corn-cakes over the fire came forward with an exclamation of surprise as he laid his burden down upon the lounge that stood in one corner.

"Never mind the cakes, Jennie," said her mother. "Come and lend a hand to save a poor creetur as your father found perishin' in the road."

"What can I do, mother?" asked the girl.

"Take them muddy things off her feet, and rub the poor creetur's limbs dry," said the good woman, busying herself in removing the wet cloak, "I declare to gracious!" she said, after a moment. "How blind men are.

Jerry called her a tramp. Look at them rings on her fingers! Look at that dress, fine enough for the finest bride! Is that the way tramps dress, Mr. Thorn?"

"She's of the finest quality, mother," said the girl called Jennie. "Her slippers are white satin, her stockings pure silk, and worked all over with flowers."

"Never mind the shoes and the stockings, Jennie," said her father, "but rub the little un's feet. See how cold and blue they are."

Thus adjured, Jennie brought a warm flannel cloth, and began to rub the icy little feet of the wayfarer, while her mother brought strong camphor and bathed the pale face; now and then applying a bottle of ammonia to her nostrils.

Under this vigorous treatment, and the revivifying heat of the room, the patient's heart began to beat quicker, and a faint, thread-like pulse to flutter in her blue-veined wrist.

"Poor soul!" exclaimed Mrs. Thorn. "I _do_ wonder how she came to be out in such a storm? All in her party dress, too! She'd be as pretty as a pink, with her eyes open, and a bit more color in her cheeks."

The farmer now approached with a cup of warm coffee and a teaspoon.

"Belike she needs summat to warm her up," he said. "Take the spoon, Jane, and force a wee bit of coffee between her lips."

Mrs. Thorn did as requested, but with no visible result for the better.

The patient still lay with closed eyes and lips, showing no sign of life, save in the tremulous beat of her heart and the faint, faint pulse of her wrist.

Mrs. Thorn still worked patiently over her, but at the end of an hour looked disheartened.

"I mistrust that this is a case for the doctor," she said; "we have done what we could, but all to no use."

"I could bring a doctor, but who's to pay him?" said the farmer. "We have no money, Jane, and Jennie's out of work."

"The lady could pay him, herself," suggested Jennie. "There's them rings on her fingers worth a mint of money."

"Yea, that's so," said the mother. "Go and get the doctor, Jennie. The lady will die, I'm afraid, if she lays in this state much longer."

"I'll go and bring Dr. Pillsbury, then," said the farmer, going out, followed by repeated injunctions from his wife to hurry.

"There's not a minute to lose," she said. "Even now it may be too late to raise the poor creetur to life again, so low as she has sunk."

CHAPTER XIV.

Farmer Thorn stepped out of the gate, and was about to proceed on his way, when his attention was arrested by the rather unusual sight of a gentleman tearing madly along the road on a fine black horse.

The farmer was so impressed with the parting injunction of his wife as to the necessity of a physician's immediate presence, that a wild fancy that this hurrying horseman might belong to the medical fraternity darted directly into his mind.

He accordingly lifted his hand as a signal for the impetuous rider to pause.

The gentleman checked his impatient steed, and inquired with a smothered oath.

"What the deuce is your business with me? I'm in a devil of a hurry!"

"I mistrusted you might be a doctor?" said the farmer, inquiringly.

"The devil! Who's sick?" was the exceedingly civil rejoinder.

"A strange lady that we found in the road this morning. She's like to die," said Mr. Thorn.

In the twinkling of an eye the rider was off his horse, with the bridle thrown over his arm.

"Yes, I'm a doctor," he said, briskly. "Here, tie up my horse, and let me see the patient at once."

Mr. Thorn was so impressed by the confident air of the man that he readily obeyed the somewhat arrogant command, and Mrs. Thorn and Jennie were somewhat surprised at his quick return, accompanied by an utter stranger.

"I met a doctor right at the gate, wife," he explained; "so I did not go for Dr. Pillsbury."

"Here's your patient, sir," said Mrs. Thorn, turning back the gay patchwork counterpane, in which she had carefully enveloped the unconscious Queenie.

What was her surprise to see him fall upon his knees and clasp his hands, while his dark, handsome features became luminous with mingled joy and sorrow.

"Oh, my dear sister, my sweet, unhappy girl!" he exclaimed, "is it thus I find you. Oh! madam, is she indeed dead?" he inquired, turning sadly to Mrs. Thorn.

"Her heart beats just a little, sir," said Mrs. Thorn, looking at him in surprise.

"Do you know the lady, sir?" asked Jennie Thorn, a little timidly.