"She can stay here if she wishes it. It can make no difference which side of the gate we are. If you are such a naughty child, Rose, you must remain by yourself, but don't be frightened, we shall not be out of sight."
Rose was half inclined to follow, but Miss Cunningham shut the gate, and she was prevented. The path certainly was much drier and more agreeable; and Margaret and Lucy paced up and down for several minutes, until, catching sight of some animals in a field adjoining the stream, Margaret declared they were horses, and she was sure her pony must be amongst them, and calling to Rose to remain exactly where she was till they came back, she hastened to satisfy her curiosity. Rose begged her not to go out of sight; but Margaret did not think it worth while to attend; and although the distance was not very great, the poor child immediately began to fancy she was left, and stood looking anxiously through the gate, and entreating Margaret to return, till she gradually worked herself into a state of great distress, which was brought to its climax, when, on turning round to see if Miss Morton were coming, she perceived that a few cows had been driven into the field, and that one of them was moving rather quickly in her direction. In an agony of alarm, Rose attempted to open the gate, but it resisted all her endeavours; and then, forgetting everything but her desire to escape from the cows, she made a desperate effort, and succeeded in scrambling over it, and seeing her sister standing by the bridge at the bottom of the field, ran at full speed towards her. Margaret saw, and called loudly to her to be careful, but the poor little girl's fright prevented her from attending, while the swiftness with which she ran, and the steepness of the hill, took from her the power of stopping, and in one moment, while yet unconscious of her danger, her foot slipped; her head struck against the projecting branch of a tree, and she fell with violence into the water. Margaret's scream of horror was echoed by Miss Cunningham, who immediately ran from the spot, calling loudly for assistance, while Margaret, with greater presence of mind, caught hold of a broken bough that lay upon the ground, and bent over the stream, in the hope of reaching her sister's dress, and so being able to save her. But the rapidity with which it flowed frustrated her hopes, and in another minute all probability of rescuing the unfortunate child would have been at an end, when the man whose cows had been the principal cause of the accident came to her assistance, and by the aid of a longer stick, and more powerful arm, succeeded in placing Rose once more in safety.
Margaret's first feeling was one of overpowering relief and gratitude; but when she looked at her sister's face as she lay perfectly senseless in the labourer's arms, her terror returned; and unable to decide upon what was next to be done, she stood by her in silent despair, unconscious of the approach of Miss Morton, who, alarmed by Miss Cunningham's cries, as she was returning from the cottage, had quickly guessed the cause, and was hurrying towards them, followed by another man.
"To the Hall! carry her to the Hall!" were the first words she said; and they were spoken so calmly, that but for the expression of her countenance, no one could have guessed the extent of her feeling.
The man in an instant obeyed, and strode rapidly across the field, but Emily's anxiety gave her for the time a strength far beyond her nature; and she kept pace with him, and even occasionally outstripped him, urging him at every instant to hasten, for that life and death depended on his speed. Margaret and Miss Cunningham were left far behind, and as they drew near to the house, almost unconsciously, Margaret lingered. Neither she nor Lucy had spoken during their walk, and ample time had been given to both for reflection. At first Margaret had felt stunned by the alarm; but as she thought of meeting her mother, the horrible idea crossed her mind, that she had not been entirely guiltless of the accident.
"Oh Lucy!" she exclaimed, when they stopped at the Hall door, "why did we leave her?"
"She will get well soon," said Miss Cunningham; but her manner was subdued, and she spoke less confidently than usual.
Margaret did not wait to reply, but hurried to Miss Morton's room. Rose, however, had not been carried there, and the house was in such commotion, that it was some time before she could obtain any information as to what had been done; but at last she was told that Mr Harrington had ridden off himself for Dr Bailey, and that Mrs Harrington and Miss Morton were together using every means for restoring the poor child to life. Morris named the room to which Rose had been taken, but when Margaret tried the door, it was bolted; and though there were voices within, no attention was paid to her entreaties for admittance. As she turned away in disappointed misery, Dora met her.
"Oh Margaret!" she exclaimed, "is it your doing?"
"No, no," replied Margaret; "why are you so cruel as to say it? Do you know how she is?"