“Alas, alas! You have killed sweet Daisie Bell!”
He answered with a cry of anguish, for there at their feet lay the lovely girl, her sweet eyes closed, her golden curls trailing on the sands, while a thin stream of blood trickled down her cheek from a little cut on her temple.
Dallas and Miss Janowitz—for it was the beautiful brunette again—bent over the prostrate girl, and they saw that she was quite unconscious, stunned, perhaps, by the blow on her temple, received either from the horse’s hoof or a shell on the sands.
“It was an accident—I would give my life if it had not happened!” he cried wildly, and she saw that his face grew pale as Daisie’s while he felt for her heart, adding: “She cannot be dead, only stunned a little, I think. Oh, if she could but have turned aside as quickly as you did!”
Annette wrung her little hands, and her dark eyes filled with tears as she cried:
“Poor Daisie! She was just learning to ride, and was not skillful enough to get out of the way. Oh, what shall we do now, Mr. Bain?”
“Why, I will take her home in my buggy, and you had better remount your wheel and go for the doctor as fast as you can.”
Annette called a curious urchin loitering near to ride Daisie’s wheel back to town, and the sad procession started on its return, Annette soon leaving the buggy far in the rear in her haste to obtain a physician for her friend.
It was several miles back to the cottage, and Dallas Bain would never forget that ride, nor the love and grief that thrilled his heart as beautiful Daisie rested against it like a dead girl, with the dark fringe of her lashes prone upon her pallid cheeks. All his thoughts were prayers that she might soon revive, and a little before he turned into Temple Street he saw her breast heave slightly and her eyelids quiver. The next moment they unclosed, while a moan of pain came from her colorless lips.
He could not help pressing her a little tighter in his arms for very joy, as he murmured tenderly: