The earl looked full in John's face, without answering; then spurred his horse violently. The animal started off, full speed.
"The children. Good God—the children!"
Guy was in the ditch-bank, gathering flowers—but Muriel—For the first time in our lives, we had forgotten Muriel.
She stood in the horse's path—the helpless, blind child. The next instant she was knocked down.
I never heard a curse on John Halifax's lips but once—that once. Lord Luxmore heard it too. The image of the frantic father, snatching up his darling from under the horse's heels, must have haunted the earl's good memory for many a day.
He dismounted, saying, anxiously, "I hope the little girl is not injured? It was accident—you see—pure accident."
But John did not hear; he would scarcely have heard heaven's thunder. He knelt with the child in his arms by a little runnel in the ditch-bank. When the water touched her she opened her eyes with that wide, momentary stare so painful to behold.
"My little darling!"
Muriel smiled, and nestled to him. "Indeed, I am not hurt, dear father."
Lord Luxmore, standing by, seemed much relieved, and again pressed his apologies.