She had never ridden at anything like that pace; desperately she tried to get the swing of the horse, to be of some help to him in that race, to see the best of the ground and guide him into it.

But she failed of everything except to keep her seat the saddle, and to spur and spur.

At times she closed her eyes unable to bear sight of Fay's golden curls streaming in the wind.

She could not pray; she could not rail; she no longer cared for herself.

All of life, of good, of use in the world, of hope in heaven entered in Lassiter's ride with little Fay to safety.