Would the time never pass? Hour after hour went by. Wet, cold, and hungry, and chilled to the bone, the unfortunate trio sat and waited. They were almost in despair when at last they heard a distant shout, and a few moments afterwards a strong light flashed down the chasm. The band of rescuers proved to consist of Mr. Helm, Dr. Shaw (the medical attendant of the Hydropathic), Dr. Longton, Mr. Clarke, and two gardeners who were well acquainted with the neighbourhood, Percy, of course, leading the way. They had brought motor lanterns, ropes, and a number of other appliances, the most important of all in the eyes of the three shivering young people being a Thermos flask full of hot soup.
The first duty for the doctors was to set the broken ankle; then came the more critical task of removing the injured girl from the cave. Her father, who was fortunately the tallest and strongest member of the party, took her in his arms, and, aided partly by ropes and partly by the help of Dr. Longton and Mr. Clarke, he succeeded in carrying her up the slippery chute on to the level above. Even there their troubles were not over—the many twistings and windings and angles of the tortuous passage were difficult to negotiate without giving undue pain to poor Gabrielle, who was already suffering enough. Her rescuers were only able to proceed very slowly, and with frequent intervals of rest, and by the time the party reached the surface of the fell it was past eleven o'clock.
None of them ever forgot that weird midnight walk back to Ringborough. It was a wild, windy night, with heavy clouds chasing one another across the sky and obscuring the light of the waning moon. Hirst and Chorley, the two gardeners, led the way with the lanterns; then came Mr. Helm and Dr. Shaw, carrying Gabrielle on an improvised stretcher; and the others followed closely behind, Dr. Longton helping Dorothy. The ground was rough and stony, and every now and then their guides had to stop to take their bearings, for there were several "potholes" and other danger spots to be avoided. The first grey streak of dawn was showing in the sky when the party, thoroughly exhausted, at last arrived at the Hydropathic.
"Gabrielle won't be at the Coll. again for ever so long," said Alison to Dorothy next day. "Dr. Shaw thinks it may be six weeks before she's able to walk. Uncle David says it's a miracle she wasn't killed. I'm glad I didn't go—and yet" (rather wistfully) "I don't suppose I shall ever have the opportunity of a real adventure again. It must have been so exciting!"
"It's nicer to read about adventures than to have them," said Dorothy. "It wasn't thrilling at all at the time—it was cold and wet and horrid. I'm delighted to have seen the cave, but I wouldn't go through last night again—not if anyone offered me a hundred pounds!"
CHAPTER XIII
A School Anniversary
Dorothy returned to Hurford with a whole world of new experiences to relate to Aunt Barbara. The visit to Ringborough had indeed been an immense enjoyment, and after so much excitement it was difficult to settle down to the round of school and lessons. With some natures change is a tonic that sets them once more in tune with their everyday surroundings; but with others it only rouses desires for what they cannot get. Unfortunately it had this effect in Dorothy's case. Her pleasant time at the Hydropathic, the amusements there, and her companionship with other young people, which she had so much appreciated, all combined to bring out into sharp contrast the quietness and uneventfulness of her ordinary existence, and to make her life at Holly Cottage seem dull and monotonous. The old cloud settled down upon her, and the old discontented look crept back into her eyes.
Aunt Barbara, who had hoped the holiday would cheer her up, was frankly disappointed. She was uneasy and anxious about Dorothy; she felt that some undesirable element was working in the girl's mind, yet she could not define exactly of what it consisted. It was a negative rather than a positive quality, and manifested itself more in acts of omission than those of commission. Dorothy was rarely disagreeable at home, but she had lately slidden out of many of the little pettings and fond, loving ways that had meant so much to Aunt Barbara, and her manner had grown somewhat hard and uncompromising. Small things count for so much in daily life, and Dorothy, absorbed in her own troubles, never thought what value might be set on a kiss, or what the lack of it might seem to that tender heart which had made her happiness its own.
At present she was engrossed in Avondale concerns, for the coming term was the fullest and busiest in the school year. Not only was there the work of her own form to be considered, but the many side interests in connection with the College also—the Ambulance Guild, the Botanical Society (a special feature of the summer months), and last, but not least, the Dramatic Union, to be a member of which she was justly proud. Her inclusion in this, though a supreme satisfaction, brought the penalty of added work. She was expected to learn parts and submit to severe drilling at rehearsals, the standard required being greatly above what had contented the Upper Fourth.