A look of infinite pity swept over the fair girl’s face, and, drawing her perfumed handkerchief from her belt, she wiped the moisture from his forehead and about his lips, which were still frightfully livid.
“Cannot one of you get some water for him?” she inquired, glancing up at those who were gathered around and apparently paralyzed into inactivity.
“Yes—I would like—a glass—of water,” said Clifford trying to moisten his dry lips.
“You shall have it,” said Gertrude, leaping to her feet. “Come with me, somebody, and I will send back a bottle of water.”
She sped out of “The Glen” as if her feet had been winged, and was closely followed by one of the waiters at the hotel.
They soon overtook Philip, who was toiling up the hill with his burden, and, telling him of her errand, Gertrude swept on past him without pausing. On reaching the hotel she saw that a carafe was filled with cold, fresh water, and, giving this to the man, she begged him to hurry back with it with all possible speed.
Then she turned her attention to Minnie, who was borne directly to her room and put to bed, while Philip hastened after a physician.
After a careful examination of the child the doctor said that she was all right, excepting that the shock of the terrible fall had, perhaps, unsettled her somewhat, but that rest and quiet would soon restore her to her normal condition.
This assurance was very comforting to both of the young people, who had been extremely anxious regarding the child’s condition.
As soon as the proprietor, Mr. Hamilton, learned what had happened he sent a carriage to convey Clifford home, who, upon his arrival, was borne directly to his own room, and told to remain there until he should be fully recovered from the terrible strain which he had sustained.