Would it bear her weight?
The great bough creaked with its unaccustomed weight, slight as it was, then shot downward.
In the old days at home Ida May had been accustomed to climb trees and to swing about in their branches. She realized that when the bough bent its entire length earthward she must let go her hold, or it would carry her quickly up again. She let go her hold when she felt that the bough of the tree had bent to its utmost. Quickly she fell downward, and Ida May, stunned and helpless for a moment, found herself lying in the long green grass.
She had scarcely fallen three feet, yet the shock had stunned her.
She knew that she must be on some country road. Afar in the distance she could distinctly see rows of glimmering lights. Those she knew must be the lights of the city. She must reach it and find the house on Fifth Avenue before she dared give herself a moment's rest.
She reached the outskirts of the city at last, and crept on toward its great throbbing heart.
Like one in a dream, Ida May saw a tall, thin woman and a young girl, who appeared to be her maid, step from a carriage.
She tried to get out of their way, but if her very life had depended upon it, she could not have done so. The tall woman and Ida May jostled against each other.
With a sharp exclamation of anger, the lady turned upon her. But at that moment Ida reeled, and, with a piteous moan, fell senseless at her feet.