"Lettice!"
Next moment Dorothea loosed her hold on Lettice and ran on alone. She had seen him too.
He came out of the woods towards them, lurching like a drunkard. And Dorothea knew him, spite of disfiguring dust and blood, and his face—that face! His cheek had been sliced open; a flap of raw red flesh hung down over his jaw; his teeth showed white in the gap, like a skeleton's. He tried to wave back the girls, he tried to speak, a thick jumble of words; his feet dragged heavily together, and down he went, full length in the grass.
Dorothea was beside him. She nursed him against her breast, mourning over him with dove-like sounds, kissing away the blood, murmuring exquisite love, warding off friends and foes alike with jealous protecting arms.
Lettice knelt at a little distance, sobbing helplessly.
"Lettice!"
What radiant eager purpose! Here was the true Dorothea, come to her own at last, risen to her full stature.
"Help me to lift. They'll be up here directly, sure to, and we must hide him."
"The wood?"
"No, they'll search that first. Into the house. Take his feet; I can manage the head."