"The lady ill? I don't wonder! I expect she's only fainted, sir. A nasty business for any man, let alone a woman, sir."
He felt somewhat a hero himself for the part he had played, true to promise.
"Another chap would 'ave driven off"—he soliloquized—"but there ... I couldn't!
"A deep one?—that 'e is!—never a word about 'is girl. But Lor'—'e can use 'is fists. 'E gave Ap Jones a fair knock-out—Serve 'im right too for mauling a lady—not that I hold with this Suffrage business, still"—he switched on the brake—"a lady's a lady, when all's said."
Then out aloud, as the car shot down into sight of the rock-bound valley:
"We'll be coming soon to the Falls of Ghyll. Some water may revive 'er, sir."
Meanwhile McTaggart propped her up, an arm around the limp shoulders. Never had she seemed so dear ... He felt a lump rise in his throat.
"Jill?" He whispered the appeal, but the girl was out of the reach of his voice, far away in those dark lands, whereof no man knows the boundary.
Tenderly he drew together the torn folds of her blouse which showed beneath it a white slip threaded with a narrow ribbon.
He felt a chivalrous pity to see the disorder of her simple dress, and, drawing the pin out of his tie, he tried clumsily, to repair it.