“That will do,” he said, looking at her as he knelt, and letting her head rest on a cushion from the canoe. “I think she has only fainted.”
“Oh!” cried Jack, “I was afraid— Be still, you beast!” to the writhing cub. Carington gave him a look, and again considered the fair, young face beneath his gaze, the blood on neck and dress, and the red splashes on his own attire.
“That is better,” he exclaimed, for Rose opened her eyes, looked about, confused for a moment; then rallied her faculties, and said, feebly:
“What is it? Where am I? What has happened?”
“It is all right. You fell down.”
“Oh, Fairfield! Is that you? Where is Ned?”
“I’m here.”
“And Jack?”
“Oh, I’m all right! And the bear’s dead.”
“The bear? Yes, I know now. Dead?”