Geoffrey made way for her on the instant, as she knelt down and loosened Bess’s throat and held a little vinaigrette to her nostrils, just in the middle of which acts Geoffrey’s services were again called into requisition, for Miss Pavey looked at him piteously, uttered a cry, and would have fallen but for the ready arm extended to help her gently down upon the heathery bank.
The crowd had stood back, muttering menacingly; but the coming of the banker’s daughter had the effect of sending half the men shuffling farther off in an uneasy fashion, the others following, and soon after the little group was left alone.
“Poor lass!” said Geoffrey, whose interest in Bessie was far greater than in fainting Miss Pavey, who lay back for the moment untended. “Do you know how this occurred, Miss Penwynn? Your people here seem to be half savages.”
“I saw it all, Mr Trethick,” said Rhoda. “She is coming to now. Poor Miss Pavey has fainted, too. Pray hold the vinaigrette to her nostrils.”
Geoffrey caught the little silver case, and held it so vigorously to the poor woman’s nose that her face, in spite of her efforts, became convulsed; and she uttered a loud sneeze, after which she faintly struggled up, wished that they had been alone, when she would have essayed to kiss Geoffrey’s hand out of gratitude, as she had seen Bess Prawle. As it was, she had to be content to look her thanks.
“Thank you, miss—thank you,” said Bess, rising. “I felt sick and giddy. I’m better now. Thank you, too, sir. The cowards would have killed me if you had not come.”
“Oh, don’t talk about the savages,” cried Geoffrey, who was full of sympathy for the poor ill-used girl. “But you are very weak still: here, take my arm, and I’ll see you home.”
“I will go home with her, Mr Trethick,” said Rhoda, coldly.
“Better still,” he said.
“I—I think I can manage by myself,” said Bess, hoarsely.