“Yes, I’m all right now,” said Kenneth feebly; and he smiled faintly in the great forester’s face, as the great rough fellow bound up his brow as tenderly as a woman.
Max had drawn back, and, as soon as the two men’s attention was taken up, he crept round behind a clump of the hazels, and, as soon as he was well alone, the pent-up emotion would have vent, and, sobbing wildly, he dropped upon his knees and covered his face with his hands, repeating the prayer of thanksgiving that rose to his lips:
“Thank God! Thank God!”
Then he started to his feet, ashamed of his emotion, dreading lest any one should have seen his position and heard his words, for a low, hoarse moan seemed to come from farther in the little patch of woodland.
Was there some one else hurt? he thought; and, taking a few steps in the direction, he came suddenly upon Scoodrach at full length upon the moss, face downwards and buried in the soft green growth, while his hands were clutching his shortly-cut hair behind, and his shoulders heaved as he moaned forth,—
“She’ll never hantle a poat acain! she’ll never rin wi’ her ower the hills! Maister—Maister Ken, she’s deid, she’s deid!”
“No, no, Scood!” cried Max excitedly. “He’s better! He has just come to!”
Scood sprang to his feet, and a flash of wild delight darted from his wet red eyes. Then, as if recollecting himself, he dashed his hand across them and gave it a slap against his side, scowling heavily.
“On’y ta watter rin doon oot o’ her hair,” he said surlily. “Ta young Chief’s not trooned?”
“No, no, Scood; he’s—”