Suddenly the scythe slipped from under his elbows. He uttered a sharp cry, staggered back and fell.
As he lay on the turf, Barbara saw a dark red stain ooze from his right side, and spread as ink on blotting-paper. The point of the scythe had entered his side. He put his hand to the wound, and then looked at his palm. His face turned livid. At that moment, just as Barbara sprang to her father, having recovered from the momentary paralysis of terror, Eve bounded from the hall-door, holding a ball over her head in both her hands, and shouting joyously, ‘I have the Jack! I have the Jack!’
[CHAPTER XXII.]
THE RED STREAK.
Barbara was not a girl to allow precious moments to be lost; instead of giving way to emotion and exclamations, she knelt and tore off her father’s waistcoat, ripped his shirt, and found a gash under the rib; tearing off her kerchief she ran, sopped it in cold water, and held it tightly to the wound.
‘Run, Eve, run, summon help!’ she cried. But Eve was powerless to be of assistance; she had turned white to the lips, had staggered back to the door, and sent the Jack rolling over the turf to her father’s feet.
‘I am faint,’ gasped poor Eve. ‘I cannot see blood.’
‘You must,’ exclaimed Barbara, ‘command yourself. Ring the alarm bell: Jasper—someone—will hear.’
‘The power is gone from my arms,’ sobbed Eve, shivering.