Presently the auto stopped before it, and to a motherly-looking woman who came out, Betty and the girls quickly explained what had happened.
"Of course! Bring the poor dear in!" the woman directed. "The men folks are over in the far meadow salting the cows, or I'd send one of them for Dr. Brown. He's most likely to be home too, now. He lives down the road a piece—about a mile."
"I can go for him in the car, and bring him back," said Mollie.
"That's good. Bring the poor dear in the bedroom, and we'll look after her until the doctor comes. I'll get the camphor bottle. That's good for a faint."
The girl seemed to have again sunk into a stupor, as they carried her in, and placed her on a comfortable lounge. Then the woman of the house brought out a bottle of camphor, of generous size, and it was held to the nostrils of the unconscious one.
The sufferer turned her head away from the pungent odor, and seemed to be struggling against some unseen force. Again she seemed to revive somewhat, and muttered:
"Oh, I can't! I can't! I don't want to go back to him! Anything but that! I don't like—I can't bear that life!"
Her voice trailed off into a mere whisper.
"You had better hurry for the doctor," said Betty, and Mollie hastened out to her car.
"I'll come with you," volunteered Grace, and Mollie was grateful.