The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1896-05-19

OS NCS0WO Po4O Do 0SAO6" OA0 AA0O
her eyes on mine with a look of anx
ious dread, and, turning to her father,
she hurriedly remarked:
I'VE are on the mountains"
II reckon we are," was the uncon-
cerned reply.
with the instructive activity, I put
my head through the window and called
to the driver. but the only answer was
the moaning Of an animal, borne past
me by the swift winds of the tempest.
l seiz d the handle of the door and
strained in vain-it would not yield
At that instant I felt a cold hand in
mine, and heard Louise family articu-
late IN my ear the following appalling
words:
The coach is moving backward g."
Never shall 1 forget the fierce agony
with which 1 tugged at the coach door,
and called on the driver in tones that
rivalled the fierce blast cf the tempest,
whilst the conviction was burning on
my brain that the coach was being
0AO"4y WOV0O OaCk "6rU6.
What followed was of such swift Oc-
currerco that it seems to me like a
frightful dream.
1 rushed against the door with all
my force; but it withstood my utmost
efforts. One side of our vehicle was
sensibly going down, down, down. The
moaning of the agonized animal be.
came deeper, and I knew from his des
perate plunges that it was one of our
horses. Crash upon crash of thunder
rolled W the mountain, and vivid
flashes of lightning played over our
heads. By it's light I could see for a
moment the old planter standing erect,
with his hands on his son and daugh
ter, his eyes raised to heaven, and his
lips moving as if in prayer. I could
see Louise turn her ashy cheek toward
me as if imploring assistance; and I
could see the bold glance of the boy
flashing indignant defiance at the war
of elements, and the awful danger that
awaited him. There was a roll, a des-
perate plunge, a harsh, grating jar, a
sharp, piercing scream of mortal ter
rOr, and I had but time to clasp L0ise
firmly with one hand around her waist
and seize the ~fastenings attached to
the coach roof with the other, when
we were precipitated over the pre-
cipice.
Il can distinctly recollect preserving
consciousness a few seconds of time,
how rapidly my breath was being tx
hausted, but of that tremendous de-
scent I soon lost all further knowledge
by a conclusion so violent that I was
instantly deprived of all sense and mo-
ton.
The traveller paused. His features
worked for a minute or two as they
did when WI were on the mountain; he
passed his hands acros his forehead as
if in pain, and then resumed his thrill
ing narrative.
"On a low couch in an humble room
Of a small country house, l next open
ed my eyes in this world of light and
shade, joy and sorrow, mirth and mad
ness. Gentle hands soothed my pillow,
gentle feet glided cross my chamber,
and a gentle voice for a time hushed
all my q~uestionings. I was kindly
tended by a fair young girl of about Is.
who refused for a while to hold any
discourse with me. At length, n
morning, finding myself stuff GENTLY
recovered to sit up, I insisted on know
ing the result of the accident.
"You were disc overed," she said,
sitting on a ledge of rock, amidst the
branches of a shattered tree, clinging
to the roof of your broken coach with
one hand, and the insensible form Of a
lady with the other
land the ladyr I gasped, scanning
the girls face with an ~earnestness that
made her draw back and blush.
"'She was saved, sir, by the means
that saved you-a friendly tree
And her father and brother9" l i'm
patiently demanded.
owe found both crushed to death
at the bottom of the precipice and we
buried them in one grave by the clover
patch down in our meadow
Poor L9uisel poor orphan! God
pity you'll" 1 muttered, in broken tones
utterly IN luscious that I had a listen
er.
God pity her, indeed, sir,"she said,
with a gush of heartfelt sympathy.
Would you like to see herr she added
rr IL - A...n E. ko-