I leaped; I caught him in my arms; my breath came in laughter and sobs. “Oh, Modred, Modred!” I cried. “I didn’t mean it—it wasn’t me—I’m not like that!” and then I broke down and wept long and convulsively, though I would never let him out of my clutch.
“Where am I?” he said, faintly; “oh, it hurts so. Every vein in my body is bursting with pain.”
At this I beat under my hysterical outburst and set to rubbing him all over in frantic eagerness. It seemed to ease him a little and I blessed him that he lay passively against me and did not offer to push me away. Poor fellow, he was far too weak as yet for any resistance.
Presently I heard the carter bawl in tremulous tones: “Art gone, the two of ’ee?”
“Come here,” I called back, with a tearful laugh. “He’s better; he’s recovered!”
The fellow came round gingerly and stood a little distance off.
“Eh?” he said, dubiously.
“See for yourself!” I cried. “He wasn’t drowned after all. He’s come round!”
The man spat viciously in the road and came sullenly forward. He was defrauded of an excitement and he felt the injury grievously.
“You young varmint!” he growled. “Them’s your tricks for to get a free lift.”