“Why,” said Mrs. Landis, “that would be a nice job for Amanda. You go up,” she addressed the girl, “and stay a little with him. He’ll appreciate your comin’ to see him.”
Amanda’s heart galloped. Her whole being was a mass of contradictions. One second she longed to fly up the steps to where the plumed knight of her girlish dreams lay, the next she wanted to flee down the country road away from him.
She stood a moment, undecided, but Mrs. Landis had taken her compliance for granted and was already busy with some of her work in the kitchen. At length Amanda turned to the stairs, followed by several eager, excited children.
“Here,” called the mother, “Charlie, Emma, you just leave Amanda go up alone. It ain’t good for Mart to have so much company at once. I’ll leave you go up to-night.” They turned reluctantly and the girl started up the stairs alone, some power seeming to urge her on against her will.
Martin Landis returned to consciousness through a shroud of enveloping shadows. What had happened? Why was a strange man winding bandages round his head? He raised an arm--it felt heavy. Then his mother’s voice fell soothingly upon his ears, “You’re all right, Martin.”
“Yes, you’re all right,” repeated the doctor, “but that other fellow should have the bumps you got.”
“That other fellow"--Martin thought hazily, then he remembered. The whole incident came back to him, etched upon his memory. How he had started from the car, eager to get to Amanda, then Lyman had come with his news of her engagement and the hope in his heart became stark. Where was her blue bunting with its eternal song? Ah, he had killed it with his indifference and caution and foolish blindness! He knew he stumbled along the road, grief and misery playing upon his heart strings. Then came the frantic honk of the car and Lyman in its path. Good enough for him, was the first thought of the Adam in Martin. The next second he had obeyed some powerful impulse and rushed to the help of the heedless Lyman. Then blackness and oblivion had come upon him. Blessed oblivion, he thought, as the details of the occurrence returned to him. He groaned.
“Hurt you?” asked the doctor kindly.
“No. I’m all right.” He smiled between his bandages. “I think I can rest comfortably now, thank you.”
He was grateful they left him alone then, he wanted to think. Countless thoughts were racing through his tortured brain. How could Amanda marry Lyman Mertzheimer? Did she love him? Would he make her happy? Why had he, Martin, been so blind? What did life hold for him if Amanda went out of it? The thoughts were maddening and after a while a merciful Providence turned them away from him and he fell to dreaming tenderly of the girl, the Amanda of his boyhood, the gay, laughing comrade of his walks in the woods. Tender, understanding Amanda of his hours of unhappiness--Amanda--the vision of her danced before his eyes and lingered by his side--Amanda---