"I—I can run fast!" cried Elaine, who seemed to have pinned her faith on Mr. Cranmer.
They scrambled down through the gap in the hedge, and ran breathlessly across the Waste. It was hard to believe that the animated, emotional creature whose feet seemed to fly over the uneven ground was the same as the dull, spiritless girl who had trailed the tip of her parasol along unwillingly in the dust such a short time back.
"Do you know the people—at—the—farm?" panted Claud, who was not in training.
"Oh, yes. Mind the bog—don't get over the stile, it's broken—come through the gap. There's Clara come back from the milking. Clara! Clara! call your father, call the men, quick! Something most dreadful has happened!"
These ominous words, pronounced at the top of the shrill young voice, filled the farmyard as if by magic. The men and girls, the boys, the farmer and his wife, all rushed out of doors, and great indeed was their astonishment to see Miss Brabourne arrive on the scene with a perfectly strange gentleman as her escort. It was well that some one was at hand who could tell the story more coherently than poor Elaine, who by this time was quite at the end of her powers.
No sooner did Mr. Battishill comprehend what was wanted than his fastest horse was saddled and his son was galloping for a doctor, while the farm-laborers pulled down a hurdle, and, spreading a blanket over it, proceeded briskly to the scene of the disaster, accompanied by the farmer himself.
Mrs. Battishill urged Elaine to stay with her, but, though white and almost speechless, the girl vehemently refused—she must go back and see what had happened.
Claud Cranmer took her hand as if she had been a little girl, and she clasped his vehemently with both hers.
"Oh, do you think he will die?" she whispered hoarsely.
"I hope not; he looks a big strong fellow. It will depend, I should think, on whether or not his skull is broken. He is not a friend of yours, is he?"