The two young men were up instantly; and almost before Dorothea knew what had happened, she found herself again on her feet, helped up by Mervyn's strong hands. Dolly alone lay white and still on the hard ice.
"You are not hurt? You are sure you are not hurt?" Mervyn was saying anxiously to Dorothea, while Edred was endeavouring to lift Dolly. "You are quite sure?"
A keen throb of joy passed through Dorothea. She could not but see that Mervyn's first thought was of her; his chief solicitude was for her. Then she thrust the joy fiercely aside.
"O no, no; not in the least. But Dolly,—poor Dolly! Don't think of me! Only think of Dolly," she implored.
[CHAPTER XX]
CUTTING THE KNOT
NEARLY ten days had gone by, and nothing would induce Colonel Tracy to prolong his stay at the Woodlands. He enjoyed being there immensely, he avowed; and the old reconciled comrades were well-nigh inseparable. Nevertheless, the Colonel confessed to Dorothea a private craving for his town-life, his quiet room, his solitary candle and musty books. He "wasn't made to live in a crowd," he said. Dorothea could not echo his sentiments, but she acquiesced.
Edred had prolonged his stay at the Park, and Mervyn was there still, instead of taking flight with his usual speed. Both brothers now, however, talked of leaving: Edred at the same time as the Tracys—Mervyn a day or two later.
For more than a week, ever since the skating, Dolly had been upstairs, invisible. Her poor little bruised face was at first in no state to be seen: and also, she had been too unwell to leave her room. The shock of her fall had perhaps only given a finishing stroke to long previous strain. From one cause or another, she was thoroughly weak and low, disposed to tears on the slightest pretext, and unable to rally.