She had time to utter a cry, no more, before the crash came.
Then she remembered nothing, knew nothing, until she heard somebody sobbing close to her ears; and opening her eyes, she saw the sweet face of Mrs. Dale, with the black veil thrown back, and with tears in the blue eyes, leaning over her tenderly.
Mrs. Dale uttered a cry of joy, and another voice, which Mabin recognized as Rudolph’s, said: “Thank God! she isn’t dead, at any rate.”
“Are you better, dear? Are you in any pain?” asked Mrs. Dale with so much solicitude that answering tears of sympathetic emotion started into the girl’s own eyes.
“I am quite well, quite well,” said Mabin. “Only—only—I think my foot hurts.”
Rudolph and Mrs. Dale exchanged glances.
“I thought so,” said he. “She’s broken her ankle.”
Mrs. Dale’s pretty eyes began to fill again.
“We must lift her into the carriage,” said she. “And you will go on and prepare her mother, and see that a doctor is sent for at once.”
And, in spite of the protests she feebly made, Mabin was gently raised from the ground by Rudolph’s strong arms, and helped into the victoria, where Mrs. Dale took her seat, and, telling the coachman to drive slowly, insisted on making her own plump little shoulder the pillow for the girl’s head.