"I'll go for mother," said Kitty. "Lie very still, Nonie, darling; you have got an awful shake from that fall, but you'll be all right soon—I'm sure you will; and, oh, here's some water in one of the picnic bottles."
Kitty sprang towards this welcome sight, wetted a handkerchief with part of the contents and put it on Nora's forehead, and then gave her a little to drink.
The cold refreshing water revived the poor girl; but when she attempted to sit up, she fell back groaning and very faint once more.
"You must let me fetch mother," said Kitty. "I won't be a minute. I'll go as if I were a bird. I'll be back in no time, really."
"No; I can't be left alone," said Nora. "It—it's awful. The pain in my back gets worse and worse. Kitty, don't leave me. Kitty, I'm frightened. I'm sorry I was so cross to you."
"And I'm sorry I aggravated you," said Kitty; "but, oh, dear! what's the use of being sorry? That won't mend your poor back. I wish you'd let me get mother."
"No, no; you mustn't leave me."
Nora tried to stretch out one of her hands, but the pain of the least movement was extreme, and she was forced to lie absolutely still, while Kitty wetted her lips at intervals with a few drops of the precious water left in the bottle.
Nora was in too great pain to care anything about the loneliness of their position. She was in too great suffering even to be keenly sorry for her own wrongdoing. The one only desire she had was to keep Kitty by her side. But poor Kitty's little heart was full of absolute terror. She had never seen anyone look so ill as Nora. Her face was white; her lips were blue; she was evidently in severe pain; but, with the pain, there was a strange faintness, which Kitty had never encountered before in the whole course of her ten sturdy years.