The love between these two sisters was especially close and strong. Mary heard Jane’s cry and her eyelids fluttered.
“It’s all right, Janie,” she murmured. “Hurts—a—little. Don’t—worry.”
“Take her up, boys, as carefully as you can, and carry her into the house. There’s no time to lose getting a doctor. Any one sent for one?” said Mr. Moulton.
“Mr. Dallas went, in his car, tearing!” said Anne Kennington, who had come from the house, and now knelt, kissing Mary’s shoes, where she thought her touch could not hurt her. “My lamb, my lamb! My Mary sweet!” she sobbed.
They raised Mary, and the lifting brought her back to full consciousness and to agony. But though it wrung their hearts to give her pain, no one could save her from suffering. If only they could save her life!
The little procession passed Florimel in a faint at the corner of the path. Mrs. Moulton lingered to attend to her. Mrs. Garden, hardly able to walk, was helped homeward by Mr. Moulton. Jane walked, erect and ghastly, with great dilated eyes, a white, set face, and her masses of hair gleaming under Ophelia’s mad wreath. Win and Mark, with two other young men to help them in case their arms weakened, carried Mary slowly, as carefully as they could, but she moaned at every step.
Thus in pain, and with tragedy threatening, ended the beautiful evening of the Garden of Dreams.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“FRAGRANT THE FERTILE EARTH AFTER SOFT SHOWERS”
Mary’s injuries were serious. “Not necessarily dangerous, but decidedly serious,” Doctor Hall explained to the tortured Gardens.