“I think not, Hartley, dear,” she replied, with a smile. “My head is not so giddy now.”
“Oh! what a madman I was to let you go,” he cried.
“Hush, dear! It was an accident,” said the poor girl tenderly. “I shall soon be better. You are hurting Leo. She suffers more than I.”
“That cursed mare, North. She looked vicious. How was it, Leo?”
“She pulled, and one of the reins broke,” said Leo hoarsely. “There would have been an accident with any horse.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Mary faintly; “and I am very sorry, Hartley. The chaise—the expense. Thank dear Mrs Berens, and now let me try and walk home.”
“No, no, my dear,” said Mrs Berens, “you must not think of going. Stay here, and be nursed. I’ll try so hard to make you well.”
“I know you would,” said Mary gently; “but I shall be better at home. Leo, dear, help me up. No, no, Hartley; I did not want to send you away. I’m better now.”
She made an effort to rise, as the doctor looked on with eager eyes awaiting the result, at which his lips tightened, and he glanced at Mrs Berens.
For Mary Salis moved her hands and arms, and slightly raised her head, but let it fall again, and looked from one to the other wildly, as if her perplexity were greater than she could bear.