Of a sudden his mind made itself up. He stood up. Then, bending down, he gathered the helpless girl into his arms and strode off towards the house.
As Lightning moved on to the house he remembered Blanche’s urging. A doctor—if there was one in Hartspool. Yes. That was it. Of course, there was Doc Blanchard, the man he had years ago brought out to the farm at the time of another disaster. Yes. He would get him. He would get him right away. But first of all—first of all he must ascertain the worst.
So he carried the unconscious girl into the house. He passed into the living-room, where food was cooking just as Molly had left it. But his purpose did not end there. He moved across to the door of Molly’s bedroom and pushed it open. Just for an instant he hesitated. Never in his life had he passed the threshold of that room, and the act of doing so now filled him with a queer sensation of sacrilege. But he thrust his feelings aside. It was no time for scruple. He carried his burden in and laid it on the neat white bed-cover.
Having plunged once, the nature of the man reasserted itself. He possessed no knowledge, but his sympathy was infinite. It was this that served him now. He went back to the living-room and obtained a towel and cold water. Then he went back to his charge. He propped the girl up; he unfastened the clothing about her soft white neck with clumsy, hesitating fingers. Then, with one arm supporting her, he bathed her temples and forehead with the water, and talked to her unconscious form like a half-demented mother crooning over her sick babe. It was everything his distracted mind could suggest.
His reward was far beyond his expectations. It is almost doubtful that he had any expectations at all. Nothing that he did or said was calculated. He was beyond calculation. The first result of the water was to wash away the ooze of blood upon the girl’s forehead, and it became quickly evident that the wound was little beyond a scratch, and a disfiguring bruise on the soft white flesh. Then, in less than five minutes, he beheld a movement of those half-closed eyelids. It was only a flicker, but it was sufficient. His dread lightened. He almost smiled. And certainly his curious jargon as he talked changed its tone to one of something like jocularity.
“Why, Molly, gal, that’s just great,” he muttered, as he plied the cold water with renewed zest. “I guess cold water’s the greatest proposition ever. ’Tain’t all folk figger that way. Now, Rye seems to me to hev more snap to it. But I guess that must be jest a notion. I wouldn’t guess Rye could bring life back to your pore body same as this darn water’s doin’. Jest get it. You was dead a minit back, an’ now you surely ain’t. Ken you beat it? An’ water’s done it. Darn cold water, that I’d hate to hand out to better’n a yeller dawg. Still, ther’ it is. Now you get them dandy eyes right open. An’ set a bit o’ colour right into them cheeks. Why, I b’lieve you was handin’ out a sigh, one o’ them things you mostly hand out when you’re grievin’. You ain’t grievin’ gal? You ain’t grievin’ I bin dopin’ you wi’ water?” He chuckled. “Say, that’s fine. Ther’s colour in them cheeks now, same as I told you ’bout. Now them eyes. Jest open ’em. That’s it, sure,” he went on delightedly, as the eyelids were slowly raised, and Molly stared straight up into his face with just a dawning of intelligence. “My, but we’ll hev you right in awhile. Then I’ll go get right after that blamed Doc.”
He laid the girl’s head gently back on the pillow and stood up from the bed. Somehow he wanted to get out of that room. He hated the thought that he had sort of forced his way into it. Now that Molly was coming round he felt shame at being there. Besides, he wanted to be off for the doctor.
But he knew he dared not leave her yet. He must hear her speak first. He must have her reassurance. He watched her for some moments, and realised her rapid advance towards complete consciousness. Then, quite suddenly, she struggled to sit up.
“Wha—what happened?” she demanded dazedly.
“You’re sick, an’ I’m goin’ right off fer Doc Blanchard. But first you’re needin’ food an’ tea. Mebbe that’ll set you feelin’ good, an’ I ken quit you fer awhiles.”