"Is it life?" whispered Ruth. "Tell me, is it life?"
Lady Rose withdrew her hand.
"Yes, faint. Oh! so faint, but life."
Then both these girls broke into a swift passion of tears, and clung together, uttering soft, broken words of thanksgiving. Ruth was the first to start from this sweet trance of gratitude.
"What can we do? He must be carried to the house. Ho, father! father!"
She ran up and down the path, crying out wildly, but no answer came. The stillness struck her with new dread. Where was her father, that he could not hear her cries? Who had done this thing! Could it be he?
"No, no!—a thousand times, no! But then—"
She went back to Lady Rose, whose hand had nestled back to that poor, struggling heart.
"Couldn't we carry him, you and I? We must have help," Ruth said, a little sharply, for the position of the lady stung her.
The question surprised Lady Rose; for never in her life had she been called upon to make an exertion. But she started to her feet and flung back the draperies from her arms.