"He is dead, quite dead!" cried Max, hoarsely.
Carrie never even looked at him. Placing herself at once on her knees behind Dudley's head, she curtly directed Max to raise the upper part of his body, and slipped the two pillows, one on the top of the other, under the shoulders of the unconscious man.
"Now," said she, "go on with your rubbing—rub with all your might; and you, Bob, bring in a couple of big stone-bottles you'll find in the wash-house, fill them with hot water from the boiler, wrap them up in something, and put one to his feet and the other to the side that's away from the fire."
While she spoke she was working hard in the endeavor to restore respiration, alternately drawing Dudley's arms up above his head and laying them against his sides, with firm and steady movements.
For a long time all their efforts seemed to be useless. Max, indeed, had little or no hope from the first. He still worked on, however, perseveringly, but with despair in his heart, until he heard a sharp sound, like a deep sigh, from Carrie's lips.
She had detected a movement, the slightest in the world, but still a movement, in the senseless body. With straining eyes she now watched, that her own movements might coincide with the natural ones which Dudley had begun to make, and that real breathing might gradually take the place of the artificial.
"Let me do it. Let me help you," cried Max, who saw the strained look of utter fatigue which Carrie wore in spite of her excitement.
"No, no; I dare not. I must go on!" cried the girl, without lifting her eyes.
And presently another cry escaped her lips, a cry of joy.
"He is alive!"