"I don't know. I'm afraid," moaned the equestrian, with a most ludicrous expression of mingled grief, pain, fright and mud. "Oh dear! what a—a mournful termination to—to my folly!"
He sank upon the ground, and sat with his feet in the puddle, a picture of utter woe.
"Excuse me," he said, feebly, "I—I am very—faint."
"He is seriously injured, I fear," observed Miss Sedley.
"You won't let me—die—here in the filth—will you?" groaned Mr. Kerchey, looking up with a despairing expression into the faces of the spectators.
Even Chester had to hide his face for laughing. But Sarah, more and more alarmed, felt never less susceptible to merriment.
"Do take him right over to Dr. Sackett's!" she exclaimed, with deep solicitude.
"Yes," murmured the unhappy man, "if you can get me there. I—I can't walk—I am sure!"
"We can carry you," replied Chester. "Come, boys!"
"Be careful that I—I don't die by the way!" whispered Mr. Kerchey, on the point of swooning.