It was the work of a moment for the rest of the party to pull up their steeds, and for Kate to leap from her saddle to the side of her friend; and another for Tom and William to extricate her from her dangerous position.
"Oh, dearest Eleanor," passionately exclaimed Kate, "tell me that you are not seriously hurt. Oh, that horrid, horrid horse!"
"I fear I am, Kate dear," replied the poor girl, "I am very much bruised, and my leg now I try to move it gives me great pain: I am afraid it is broken."
"Oh, gracious goodness! what shall we do?" cried Kate; "lean on me, Eleanor love, and see if you can rise."
The poor girl did so; but the pain was more than even her wonted heroism could endure. With a faint cry of agony she sank fainting into the arms of Tom, who was standing at her side ready to support her in case of need, and there unfortunately proved to be need; for Eleanor, as she herself had anticipated, had broken her leg.
The unconscious form of the suffering creature was carried into the adjoining shade, and gently placed on the turf in a reclining position; while the ladies speedily had recourse to those gentle restoratives, with which they are happily at all times so ready, in cases where the sympathies of their kindly natures are brought into play.
We masculine mortals plume ourselves on our knowledge of the female character; which we profess to read as the astrologers of old did "the gems that deck eve's lustrous mantle;" and to divine their secret wishes, fancies, and inclinations, as the professors of clairvoyance do their susceptible pupils. But we are inclined to think woman's heart is the true arcana of life; at least of this fact we are certain, woman's troubles can only be appreciated by woman; and woman in sorrow can only be soothed, or woman in pain can only be alleviated by those whose anodynes are the effects of intuitive impulsions, arising from the reciprocal communings of kindred spirits. Oh, woman! bless'd woman! Favoured daughters of Eve! thou never shinest in such perfection as when thy ministering hand assuages the pain of a sick couch. Happy is the man, with all his flaunted superiority, who, in the time of indisposition, when his spirit wavers indecisively between this life and the other, is blessed with the possession of thy tender solicitude, to smooth the passage to the mysterious bourne, or nourish the reviving spirit with thy calm, patient, and may be, vigil-dimm'd orbs, ever watching for returning convalescence. But we are digressing; our feelings of gratitude to the sex are carrying us away from the subject of our narrative, and we must apologize to our fair readers for our abstractedness.
Through the tender care of her friends Eleanor speedily recovered her consciousness, though only to be made aware, by contemplation, of the dreadfulness of her situation. She was suffering the most excruciating agony, and was more than twenty miles from any assistance. The thought would have subdued the stout heart of many a man, but with her evoked not a murmur. She bore her sufferings, both bodily and mental, with her characteristic heroism,—a heroism that admitted of no complaint,—a perfect subjugation of the feelings, passively enduring pain with an annihilation of all querulousness,—one that in a man would have distinguished the bold spirit; but in a woman denoted the sublimity of that nature, which, in its gentle texture, shines out in bold relief and claims the laurels for an endurance which extinguishes, in its sublimated lustre, the baser material of the stern "lords of the creation."
A hasty council was now formed in debate as to the best means that could be adopted to procure assistance for their wounded friend. It was proposed first that she should attempt to get back to Brompton; then that one of the gentleman should ride back at once, and procure some conveyance; then that the ladies should return to Brompton, and obtain the requisite assistance, while the gentlemen constructed a litter and carried the invalid as far on the road as they could, or until they were met by assistance. To all of these propositions Eleanor, however, gave her emphatic veto, and declared that she would not consent to return; but affirmed her willingness and ability to proceed to Strawberry Hill.
This desire again was energetically combatted by her friends, who argued that such a course would endanger, not only her limb, but possibly her life; and that it would be far better for her to waive her scruples, and consent to return to the Smithers'. But to all entreaties on that head she turned a deaf ear. "I will mount my horse," she said, "with your assistance, and by going quietly I will be perfectly able to reach home. So do not, my dear friends, make yourselves uneasy on my account."