“Poor old Cass!” said the Squire kindly. “Feel a bit played out, eh? It’s all over, you know; all over now. We’ll soon have you all right. Think you could walk, if I gave you an arm? The car is waiting, at the end of the field.”
Cassandra rose with unexpected strength, and the Squire tucked her arm in his, with a pat of reassurement. “That’s a good girl. Told you you weren’t half as bad as you thought! You’ll feel A1 after an hour’s rest.”
The two figures passed on in advance, Cassandra’s head bowed low over her breast, and the three who were left, stared after them in dumb amaze. Martin had passed his arm round Grizel’s shoulder, and she clung to him, trembling with mingled misery and indignation.
“Martin! Martin! she nearly died... she was fighting for her life before our eyes! It was horrible,—the most ghastly horror. We felt as if we should go mad, too. She has been down to the very gates of death, and he smiles, he jokes,—he is as calm as if nothing had happened! Has he no heart?”
“No imagination, dearest. That’s the trouble. Nothing is real to him that he hasn’t seen. You poor girls! you look worn out yourselves. Come! there will be room for you in the car, and you will want to look after her when she gets home. I’ll come back, and wait till the men arrive for the hampers.”
He held out his free hand and slid it through Teresa’s arm.
“Your man is chasing the doctor. You’ll find him waiting at home. What a comfort that he was with you!”
“He saved her life,” Teresa said. “Not one man in a thousand would have done as he did. He was so brave.”
“I know someone braver!” said Grizel in her heart.