The girl, who was carrying a small traveling-bag, as though on her way to the station, lay helpless where she had fallen, the blood trickling down her face from a cut on her white temple.
In a moment the Englishman had stopped the carriage. He sprung out and caught up the unconscious girl from her perilous position in the middle of the street in the surge of hurrying vehicles, and carried her to the sidewalk.
A knot of people gathered around, gazing in pity and admiration at the lovely face in its frame of rippling golden hair.
A compassionate woman took some water and bathed the blood from the wounded temple, exclaiming, angrily:
“It is a shame that that rude fellow was not arrested for running down this sweet girl! She might have been killed!”
She bound a soft white handkerchief about the wound, and continued:
“Does anybody know her? She ought to be taken home or to the hospital. Oh! so you are coming to, miss?”
The girl had indeed opened two large blue, wondering eyes upon the anxious group that surrounded her.
“Are you hurt much?” inquired the kind though loquacious woman, helping Floy—for it was our little heroine—in her efforts to rise.
Floy was now on her feet, but ghastly pale and trembling.