“You’re coming out all right,” he said; “but you mustn’t talk just yet.”
“If I want to,” she said slowly. Her eyes laughed again. “If I want to, I’ll talk.”
“No,” said Mr. Carteret.
“Hear him boss!” she murmured. She looked up at him for a moment, and then her eyes closed. But it was not the same. The lashes lay more lightly, and a tinge of color had come into her cheeks. He sat and watched her, his mind a confusion, a great gladness in his heart.
In a little while she opened her eyes as before. “Hello, Carty,” she began, but Mr. Carteret’s attention was attracted by the sound of wheels in the lane. He saw an old pha\EBton, driven by a farmer, coming toward them.
The man saw him, and stopped. “Is this the place where a lady was hurt?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Mr. Carteret. “How did you know?”
“A boy told me,” said the farmer.
“I see,” said Mr. Carteret.
At first she was independent and persisted in walking to the trap by herself. But as they drove off, she began to sway, and caught herself on his arm. After a moment she looked at him helplessly; a little smile shone in her eyes and curved the corners of her mouth. At the next jolt her head settled peacefully upon his shoulder. Her eyes closed. She seemed to be asleep.