THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
306 
though it was a close shave for the ditch. 
There was a mile of straight then with the 
third curve beneath it, and after that the 
gate of the park. If I could shoot into 
that harbour all would be well, for the 
slope up to the house would bring her to 
a stand. 
Perkins behaved splendidly. I should like 
that to be known. He was perfectly cool 
and alert. I had thought at the very 
beginning of taking the bank, and he read 
my intention. 
“ I wouldn’t do it., sir/’ said he. “ At this 
pace it must go over and we should have it 
on the top of us.” 
Of course he was right. He got to the 
electric switch and had it off, so we were in 
the free ; but we were still running at a 
fearful pace. He laid his hands on the wheel. 
“ I’ll keep her steady/’ said he, “ if you 
care to jump and chance it. We can never 
get round that curve. Better jump, sir.” 
“No/ 5 said I ; “ I’ll stick it out. You can 
jump if you like.” 
“ I’ll stick it with you, sir/’ said he. 
If it had been the old car I should have 
jammed the gear-lever into the reverse, and 
seen what would happen. I expect she 
would have stripped her gears or smashed up 
somehow, but it would have been a chance. 
As it was, I was helpless. Perkins tried to 
climb across, but you couldn’t do it going at 
that pace. The wheels were whirring like a 
high wind and the big body creaking and 
groaning with the strain. But the lights were 
brilliant, and one could steer to an inch. I 
remember thinking what an awful and yet 
majestic sight we should appear to anyone 
who met us. It was a narrow road, and we 
were just a great, roaring, golden death to 
anyone who came in our path. 
We got round the corner with one wheel 
three feet high upon the bank. I thought 
we were surely over, but after staggering for a 
moment she righted and darted onwards. 
That was the third corner and the last one. 
There was only the park gate now. It was 
facing us, but. as luck would have it, not 
facing us directly. It was about twenty yards 
to the left up the main road into which we 
ran. Perhaps I could have done it, but I 
expect that the steering-gear had been jarred 
when we ran on the bank. The wheel did 
not turn easily. We shot out of the lane. 1 
saw the open gate on the left. I whirled 
round my wheel with all the strength of my 
wrists. Perkins and 1 threw our bodies across, 
and then the next instant, going at fifty miles 
an hour, my right front wheel struck full on 
the right-hand pillar of my own gate. I 
heard the crash. 1 was conscious of flying 
through the air, and then — and then ! 
When I became aware of my own existence 
once more I was among some brushwood in 
the shadow of the oaks upon the lodge side 
of the drive. A man was standing beside 
me. 1 imagined at first that it was Perkins, 
but when I looked again I saw that it was 
Stanley, a man whom I had known at college 
some years before, and for whom I had a really 
genuine affection. There was always some- 
thing peculiarly sympathetic to me in Stanley’s 
personality, and I was proud to think that I 
had some similar influence upon him. At the 
present moment 1 was surprised to see him, 
but I was like a man in a dream, giddy 
and shaken and quite prepared to take 
things as T found them without questioning 
them. 
“ What a smash ! ” I said. “ Good Lord, 
what an awful smash ! ” 
He nodded his head, and even in the gloom 
I could see that he was smiling the gentle, 
wistful smile which I connected with him. 
I was quite unable to move. Indeed, I 
had not any desire to try to move. But my 
senses were exceedingly alert. I saw the 
wreck of the motor lit up by the moving 
lanterns. I saw the little group of people and 
heard the hushed voices. There were the 
lodge-keeper and his wife, and one or two more. 
They were taking no notice of me, but were 
very 7 busy round the car. Then suddenly I 
heard a cry of pain. 
“ The weight is on him. Lift it easy/’ cried 
a voice. 
“ It’s only my leg,” said another one, 
which I recognized as Perkins’s. “ Where’s 
master ? ” he cried. 
“ Here I am/’ l answered, but they did not 
seem to hear me. They were all bending over 
something which lay in front of the car. 
Stanley laid his hand upon my shoulder, 
and his touch was inexpressibly soothing. 1 
felt light and happy, in spite of all. 
“No pain, of course ? ” said he. 
“ None,” said 1. 
“ There never is,” said he. 
And then suddenly a wave of amazement 
passed over me. Stanley ! Stanley ! Why, 
Stanley had surely died of enteric at Bloem- 
fontein in the Boer War 1 
“Stanley!” I cried, and the words seemed 
to choke my throat— <£ Stanley, you are dead.” 
He looked at me with the same old gentle, 
wistful smile. 
“ So are you,” he answered. 
