CHAPTER XX.

THE END OF THE DRIVE.

"SHE'S out-she's out, papa, she's out-Dessie," screamed Hubert incoherently, for Mr. Fitzroy, giving all his attention to the driving, was not even aware of the catastrophe, and they were going on. "Papa, stop; Dessie is thrown out."

The carriage came to a standstill, though not instantly. The driver by no means approved of the delay. Their misfortune was not known to the first carriage, now some little way in advance, and hidden from them by a bend in the road. Dessie could be seen lying on the ground close below the bank.

"I cannot leave the coach-box, or this fellow will drive off and leave us in the lurch," Mr. Fitzroy said. "You and Bertie must go to her, Miss Bruce. If she is too much hurt to walk, make signs to me to come to you; but I would rather not risk a turn here. The man is in no state for it."

He spoke composedly, but looked anxious. Miss Bruce and Bertie descended at once, and hurried back along the road, as fast as the poor governess's shaking limbs would carry her. Bertie would have

been first at the spot, but she had grasped his arm for help, and he could not shake her off.

Dessie had by this time struggled slowly into an odd half-sitting half-kneeling position, but she did not seem able to accomplish more. As they came up she looked in their faces with a short laugh.

"My dear-my dear-are you hurt?" gasped Miss Bruce. "Are you hurt, Dessie? How could you stand up, my dear? It was very wrong-very imprudent. Always sit still in a carriage if there is danger. My dear, do pray tell me are you hurt?"

She laid hold of Dessie as she spoke, and Dessie shrank from her with a quick, "Oh, don't!"

"Where are you hurt? Is it your shoulder? My dear, how could you do it?"

"I'm not likely to play the same trick again just yet," muttered Dessie. "Please don't touch me." "Where are you hurt, Dessie?” asked Hubert. "I'm bruised," said Dessie, catching her breath— "I'm bruised all over, I expect. Miss Bruce, don't, please.

"You

"My dear, we must get back to the carriage somehow," said Miss Bruce distressfully. must let me help you-and Bertie too. faint?"

Are you

"Never was faint in my life, so I don't know what it is," said Dessie.

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My dear, can you walk? Try to stand, Dessie dear. The carriage will come back if needful, but really it isn't safe-I don't think it is safe-is it, Bertie ? I see your father is afraid. If that man

?"

tries to turn he may have the carriage in the river, just about here. Do you think you could walk it, Dessie, if you try, and if we help you Poor Miss Bruce did not look much like giving efficient help, for she was as pale as Dessie, and shaking all over, like a person with palsy. She tried to smile encouragingly, but her very voice partook of the tremor.

"If you could just walk this little distance," she kept repeating. "I think it would be best." "All right! I'll come," said Dessie.

She struggled to her feet with a sudden effort, and then uttered a sharp exclamation, and leant against Hubert.

"Sprained your ankle, old girl?”

"Yes-I-I-suppose-I must," said Dessie, clutching at him convulsively. "Oh,-O Bertie." Steady don't be in a hurry," said Hubert, standing firm with some difficulty.

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"Don't let go, Bertie, please the pain turns me so sick."

"What shall we do?" said Miss Bruce, despairingly. "I am afraid the carriage will have to come back."

"No, I'll manage," said Dessie resolutely. "Give me your shoulder, Bertie-so; I can't stand on that foot."

"My dear, are you hurt anywhere else?" asked Miss Bruce, making feeble attempts to buoy up Dessie on the other side.

"She can't talk; don't bother her," said Bertie, as Decima set her teeth rigidly. The pain was

almost unendurable. Her only possible mode of progression was to shuffle or hop with the left foot, while using Bertie as a crutch; but the jar of the slightest movement was agony. Dessie had had little suffering in her lifetime, and was by no means trained to endurance, yet she bore it, as Bertie said, "pluckily." Not a groan escaped her, though drops stood in thick rows upon her forehead, and at length poured down her face.

"Dessie much hurt?" called Mr. Fitzroy from the coach-box.

"Ankle sprained," shouted Bertie.

"Shall we drive back?"

"No,” Dessie herself said, loudly enough for him to hear, adding, in a smothered tone, "I'll do it—if I can."

"We're nearly there," said Bertie encouragingly. Dessie thought it very far from "nearly," but she would not be beaten, and the carriage at length was reached.

"It's pretty bad, isn't it?" said Bertie.

Dessie nodded. "I can't get in," she said. "I'll get in front and haul, and Miss Bruce must lift you up, and you can take hold and pull.”

"I don't think I can, my arm's hurt so."

"Well, we must do it for you," said Bertie, rather dismayed. "I hope the man will keep his horses quiet."

"Can you manage, or shall I descend?" asked Mr. Fitzroy.

"O no, pray" began Miss Bruce.

"I wouldn't, papa; the man will be off, to a

certainty," said Bertie. how."

"We'll try first, any

Miss Bruce was of little use in the matter, for she was thoroughly unnerved, and when unnerved she was limp. She did her best, however, and Hubert, happily, was strong. Between the two Dessie was somehow pushed and dragged up, and she dropped into her seat with one smothered

moan.

"That's a good thing done," said Bertie.

"Put

your foot on this seat, Dessie; it's worse hanging down."

"Dessie would be wise to take off her boot before the foot swells," said Mr. Fitzroy, leaning back to speak. "Is it bad, Dessie?" "Pretty bad," said Dessie.

"Try to get the boot off, my dear."

A matter more easily talked of than accomplished. The man was lashing the horses on again after their brief respite, and Mr. Fitzroy had to give his attention to the driving. Miss Bruce bent forward and endeavoured to unlace the boot, but her shaking fingers were perfectly helpless, and the fumbling was more than Dessie could stand. She endured it for some seconds with subdued shudders, and then caught at Miss Bruce's hands.

"Oh, don't-I can't bear that."

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"My dear, the boot really ought to come off," faltered Miss Bruce. "If not, the foot will swell, and become much worse. I had almost found the end of the lace. If you could have a moment's patience"