“You never asked that woman to invite me, Miss Dean?”
She did not speak, but her face began to work, her hands dropped in her lap, her head drooped upon her chest, and she wept bitterly.
“Oh, Miss Dean, for heaven’s sake don’t do that,” he said. “I hate to see a woman cry. I can’t bear it. Pray forgive me if I spoke harshly. I could not help feeling annoyed that you should have done this.”
“You ought to be grateful,” she cried passionately. “The woman you love so dearly will be there with gay Major Rockley—oh, Mr Linnell—Richard—for heaven’s sake forgive me. What have I said—what have I done?”
In her alarm at the start he gave, and at his ghastly face, she let fall the reins and caught at his arm, when the ponies, feeling their heads free, dashed off; but this brought Linnell back to the present, and with one bound he reached the rein, hung on to it, and was dragged along for a few yards, turning the ponies’ heads towards a steep bank by the side of the narrow unfrequented road. The result would have been that he would have been crushed between the chaise and the bank, but for Cora’s presence of mind in seizing the other rein and dragging at it with all her might.
As it was, he received a violent kick which turned him sick and faint, and when he came to, the ponies’ reins were secured to a tree in the hedge, and he was lying upon the grass, with Cora’s arm supporting his head, and her frightened face bending over him.
“What is it?” he cried sharply. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she said softly. “Don’t move. How brave you are!”
He looked at her wonderingly, and then flushing once more, he recalled the whole scene, and what led to it.
“I was afraid you were hurt,” he said, trying to rise; but the giddy feeling came back, and he sank down again.