“I? Why, I was but a crumb at the banquet.”
Ah, Lisbeth! Those flashing eyes, that colour such as “blended rose” never had, that lithe, rounded figure radiating vitality, bespeak too much of modesty in your words.
“Go on, Nat, old boy, faster! We must save the girl. Up and at ’em, Rangers! Cheated of promotion, and by a girl! Oh, Lisbeth, how could you do it! You knew I’d believe what you told me.”
“Who is that?” The girl’s face is pale and her voice trembles.
“Another victim. I was about to ask you, if possible, to have a doctor sent here. Cunningham refused it. You know him, surely you do. It’s poor Rodney Allison. He’ll not ride many more races, I’m thinking, such as the night he rode and overtook your horse and stopped it.”
“Rodney! Don’t you know me, your old playmate? Don’t you know Lisbeth? How hot his head is!”
The girl sat, as one dazed, with her cool hand on the lad’s forehead. He lay more quietly under her kindly touch.
“He hasn’t got to suffer as long as the most of us. It will only be a question of a few days in this place,” said Lawrence, bitterly.
Lisbeth looked up, and Lawrence saw that her eyes glittered and her face looked hard. She bade him adieu and was gone before he could say more.