"Here, dearie," she said, "Let me wash your face. I brought the water in your hat," and with the balance of her skirt she washed the girl's face and then proceeded to tear open the sleeve, cleansing the wound with a fresh hatful of water. She did it carefully and thoroughly, with the skill of a surgeon. It was an ugly wound, but she bound the arm firmly with the strips.
"There now! So much for that," ejaculated Nora, rising and pushing back from her brow one curly lock that always insisted upon falling over her eyes.
"Oh, Honora! you are an angel," exclaimed Ethel, "and I have always been so unfriendly."
Nora appeared not to hear but went on:
"Can you stand, my dear?" she asked.
"No," sobbed the girl, "I guess my leg must be broken. However are we to reach Camp? Oh, Nora, for God's sake don't leave me. I should die of fright were you to do so, and the men may be hiding near even now. Don't go, I beseech. I know I am selfish and I've been unkind to you, but forgive me, Nora. I'll be your slave after this if only you'll stay with me. Don't go for help. Just stay here until I die," and the girl fell to sobbing.
"I'm cold," she murmured—"I'm so chilly, Nora," and she shivered.
Quickly Nora removed her heavy white sweater that she had just put on, and raising Ethel to a sitting posture she first put in her good arm. Then she fastened the sweater about the girl's neck.
"There, dear, that will keep you warm, and I'll not be after leaving you—never fear—not if we stay together all night in these woods. But I must think how we can manage with you and your injuries. Faith it's raining and you may catch your death."
"And I have your sweater on, Nora!" exclaimed Ethel. "Oh, how selfish I am."