It was not the first time I had been run away with. A fall from a stumbling horse or a wagon upset is a very common and, considering the half-tamed beasts we use, by no means surprising accident in our country; but at first it was only by a fierce effort I shook off an almost overmastering terror as I contemplated the danger to my companion. I hazarded one glance at her and saw that her face was white and set, then dare look at nothing but the reeling trees ahead. I strained every sinew to swing the team clear of them. Sometimes the beasts responded, sometimes they did not, and it was by a miracle the trunks went by. The wagon bounced more wildly, the slope grew steeper, and even if I could have checked the team this would only have precipitated a catastrophe. So, helpless, I clung to the reins until the end came suddenly.
Several birches barred our way; the brutes would swerve neither to right nor to left; and with a hoarse shout of warning I strove desperately to hold them straight for the one passage, wondering whether there was room enough in the narrow gap between the trunks. It was immediately evident that there was not. Simultaneously with a heavy shock, the wagon appeared to dissolve beneath me and I was hurled bodily into the air. Fortunately I alighted upon soft ground, headforemost, and perhaps, for that reason, escaped serious injury. It is possible that, in different circumstances, I might have lain still partly stupefied, or spent some time in ascertaining whether any bones had broken; but, as it was, I sprang to the overturned wagon, breathless with fear.
Lucille Haldane lay, mercifully, just clear of it, a pitiful white figure, and my heart stood still as I bent over her. She was pale and limp as a crushed lily, and as beautiful; and it was with awe I dropped on one knee beside her. There was no sign of any breathing, coldness seemed to emanate from her waxlike skin, and though I had seen many accidents, I dare scarcely venture to lay a finger on the slackly throbbing artery in her wrist. Then I groaned aloud, borne down with an overwhelming grief, for with the suddenness of a lightning flash I knew the words spoken but such a little while ago had been more than true. It was she who had brought all the sunshine and sweetness into my life. Reason and power of action returned with the knowledge, and I started for the river at a breathless run, smashing savagely through every cluster of dwarf willows which barred my way, filled my hat with the cold water, and, returning, dashed it on her face. The action appeared brutal, but terror was stronger than any sentimental fancies then, and I dare neglect no chance with that precious life at stake.
The slender form moved a little, and it was with relief unspeakable I heard a fluttering sigh; then I raised the wet head upon my knee, and fell to chafing the cold hands vigorously. The time may have been five minutes, or less, but I had never spent such long days in my life as those seconds while I waited, quivering in every limb, for some further sign of returning animation. It was very still in the hollow, and the song of the hurrying water maddened me. Its monotonous cadence might drown the faint breathing for which I listened with such intensity. Even in that space of agony two other incidents flashed through my memory, and I understood my fear during the dark voyage, and on the moonlit night when the cars lurched across the bridge. Life would be very empty if the breath died out of that tender, shaken body.
The suspense was mercifully ended. Lucille Haldane half opened her eyes, and looked up at me without recognition, closed them, and caught at her breath audibly, while I held her hands fast in a restraining grasp. Then, as she looked up again, the blood came back, mantling the clear skin, and she said, brokenly: "I fell out of the wagon, did I not? How long have I been here?—and my head is wet. I—I must get up."
I still held one hand fast; but, stooping, slipped one arm beneath her shoulder and raised her a little. "You must wait another few moments first."
The girl appeared reluctant, but made no resistance, and when finally I raised her to her feet I found it was necessary to lean against a birch trunk to hide the fit of trembling that seized me.
"I am not much hurt," she said; and my voice broke as I interjected: "Thank God for it!"
I fancied that Lucille Haldane, shaken as she was, flashed a swift sidelong glance at me, and that the returning color did not diminish in her cheek; then she said hurriedly: "Yes, I am not hurt, but I see the horses yonder, and you had better make sure of them. We are still some distance from home."
I turned without further speech, and found the vicious brutes, which had broken the wagon-pole, held fast by the tangled gear which had fouled a fallen tree. It was almost with satisfaction I saw the bolter had lamed himself badly. There was a change in Lucille Haldane when I led them back. She had recovered her faculties, but not her old frank friendliness, and said, almost sharply: "The wagon is useless. What do you propose to do?"