She did not feel frightened about herself—only incredibly tired. But Ralph’s face frightened her.
Peggy had never seen any one unconscious before—the whiteness and the drawn look of the nose and mouth were startling.
She went over to him at once.
“Ralph,” she said, shaking him gently.
Then she turned to Howard Brent.
“Is Ralph dead?” she asked quietly, yet with a queer note in her voice.
Howard stared at her.
“Oh, Lord, no,” he returned, not with much show of feeling. “There is nothing the matter with Ralph except that he bumped his head as he went over. He will be all right in a little while. He was a good deal of a chump to have gone so near the edge of the cliff and more of a chump to have dragged you along with him.”
Peggy did not answer. She knew, of course, that Ralph had not intended any harm should befall her, but it was not worth while arguing the point then.
Instead, she managed to seat herself in a half upright position, but so she could get Ralph’s head in her lap.