This overcame her; she left him, and hurried through the grove on her way to the house, he could hear her sob as she went.
Dr. Kirby's figure had appeared at the end of one of the orange aisles; when he saw Margaret hurrying onward, he hastened his steps. Winthrop had now overtaken her, her foot had slipped and he had caught her. Both her hands were over her face, her strength was gone.
The Doctor came panting up. "My dear Mrs. Harold—" he began.
But she seemed to hear nothing.
The Doctor put his hand on her pulse. "Will you go to the house for help to carry her in?" he whispered. "Or shall I?"
"I can carry her myself," said Winthrop. He lifted her. Unconsciousness had come upon her, her head with the closed eyes, her fair cheek, the soft mass of her hair lay against his shoulder.
The Doctor went on with them for some distance; he was not sure that Winthrop's strength would hold out.
But Winthrop's strength appeared to be perfect.
"I will hurry forward then, and warn them," said the Doctor. And he set off at a round pace.
Winthrop walked steadily; at last he reached the end of the white-blooming fragrant aisles, the path entered a thicket that lay beyond.