"No, she ain't, either. Rodney's off just now—comin' back to-morrow. I say!"
"Well?"
"Slow up a bit. I can't stand this. I give in. I guess my legs ain't long enough. You're stunnin' on a bike. Caro's rather good, but—Hullo! what's that ahead, anyway? Let's put in 'n' get to it."
So they put in. In another moment they saw that the something was a man; then that he was lying flat on his face; then that it was Rodney Lawrence. It was the girl who discovered who it was. Instead of shrinking back a little, as Leander had done in spite of himself, when they found that it was a man lying there, Prudence forced her wheel up to the prostrate body, jumped off, and looked down at him. She stood perfectly still for an instant. Then she turned towards Leander.
"It's Rodney," she said, in a low voice.
"I don't believe it!" cried the boy.
He felt that it was impossible for Rodney to be hurt so that he would lie as stiff and dreadful as that. Some other man might be hurt thus, but not Rodney. With this rebellious disbelief in his fast-beating heart, Leander dismounted; he stood a little behind Prudence, and peered round her at the object on the ground.
"It is Rodney," repeated the girl.
Her face was quite white, and her eyelids, as she looked down, fluttered as if they would close over her eyes and thus shut out the sight of the senseless man. But she was calm enough as she turned to the boy.
She did not immediately speak. She glanced around the place. There was a wood on each side of the road. They might be there half a day, she knew, and no one would come along. It was not the main road, which itself was not much travelled.