He struggled for self-command; it was evident the pain was almost overmastering him, and Margaret's heart was so full of compassion she had no longer room for nervousness. She was touched beyond measure when she noticed that in the midst of all his suffering he thought of her, and that he was trying to suppress all signs of what he was enduring. He could not speak for a moment or two, then he said hurriedly,
"My men are looking out for me. If you can, tie a handkerchief to my stick. They were to pick me up here." In a moment or two he said, "If you do not mind staying—till—they come—" and to poor Margaret's dismay he went off again into insensibility.
She acted as he had told her and had the comfort of seeing a boat come off. She did not notice from which ship it came, but she hurried back to his side, and renewed her efforts with her dripping pocket-handkerchief.
Then, when the men were landing, she went down to the shore towards them and told them there had been an accident; and, in a moment or two, the unfortunate hero of the adventure was surrounded by strong arms, and evidently anxious helpers, and Margaret glided away. She felt very tired as she walked homewards. Anxiety is always a much greater fatigue than physical exertion, and she drooped as she reached the hotel. Then she dragged herself upstairs and was pleased to find herself alone with Mrs. Dorriman.
Mrs. Dorriman was placidly engaged in doing up her accounts, and was satisfied to find that her brother, if he wished to do so, might inspect them without being able to find fault. But Mr. Sandford was not at all either stingy or exacting, as far as money matters went; and Mrs. Dorriman, as she wrote out the conclusion, could not help giving a sigh when she thought how entirely the method and neatness of it all was thrown away, since no other eye would probably ever see this well-kept book save her own.
She looked up to see Margaret—pale to her lips—sink wearily into a chair; and she was up and alarmed directly.
"An accident," murmured poor Margaret. "Oh, no, not to me," she went on as Mrs. Dorriman's alarm increased; and then the fright and fatigue and all else broke her down, and she cried; and the poor bewildered woman was even more at her wit's end than usual.
Margaret could not go down to luncheon; as usual with her whenever unduly excited, her head throbbed violently, but she refused to go to bed. "I have had no accident, I am not hurt," she said, laughing a little hysterically, "but I thought he had been killed. It was so dreadful."
Mrs. Dorriman petted her, and made her have some soup, and left her on the sofa, while she went to find Grace and go downstairs.
Later on, there was a commotion downstairs, a bustle as of a new arrival. Margaret heard it without connecting it with her adventure. That apathetic feeling of languor which generally succeeds excitement had come over her, and she lay quiet, not sleeping, not even thinking, all her senses lulled into absolute repose. Into this came Grace, excited, bubbling over with news.