"We must get her into the house," Frederica panted. And, somehow or other, they did it, Howard taking the shoulders, and Fred the feet. They were gasping with the strain of it when they laid her on the floor of the living-room.
"Is she dead?" he said.
Frederica thrust her hand into the bosom of Flora's dress—and held her breath.
"I can't tell; we mustn't stop to find out! You know what to do? Pull her arms up, this way!"
They stood over her, Howard following Fred's short, sharp directions, and, even in the horror of the moment, conscious of a wondering admiration at her efficiency. But no quiver of life came into the still face.
"We ought to get a doctor!" Fred said, at last, panting.
"I'll go instantly!"
"No, the quickest way will be to take her to a doctor, not bring a doctor to her!"
"But if she is dead we ought not to move her! That's the law."
"Law? I don't care anything about the law! Life is what I'm thinking of! We don't know whether she's dead or not. Crank your car! I'll get some blankets—"