Then, and only then, Barbara glanced at the carriage and its occupants.
It was an open four-seated carriage, and in it were Ruth Stuart, Grace Carter, Gladys Le Baron and a strange young man somewhat older than the rest of the party. The girls were leaning back, with closed eyes and white faces. The young man was staring straight ahead, with a blank expression, fear depicted on every feature.
Barbara dared not leave the horses even now. “Mollie! Mollie!” she called.
Mollie was already out of the house. From the window, terror-stricken, she had seen it all.
“Get the girls out,” Barbara directed. “I can’t leave these brutes, though I guess they’re all right now.”
In the meantime, Grace and Gladys had opened their eyes. Mollie now stood at the carriage step, her hand outstretched.
As they recognized their rescuers, Grace’s pale face lit up. Even Gladys, for once, tried to summon a gracious and grateful smile.
“We’re all right, Mollie,” spoke up Grace, “but I think Ruth has fainted. I’ll help you get her into the house.”
Suddenly the young man started up. “I beg your pardon,” he remarked in a smooth, pleasantly-modulated voice, “but you really must let me help. I have been utterly helpless so far,” and his glance wandered admiringly and a trifle shamefacedly toward Barbara.
In an instant, he had sprung over the wheel and gently half lifted, half dragged Ruth Stuart off the seat.