Poor soul! poor soul! she is exhaust indeed.
(The men run out and bring water, Fitzgibbon gets brandy from a buffet, and Mr. Jarvis unloosens her bonnet and collar. They bathe her hands with [ [!-- Begin Page 61 --] the spirit and sprinkle her face with the water, and at last MRS. SECORD sighs heavily.)
Fitzgibbon. She's coming to. Back, men; give her more air.
(MR. JARVIS and another Cadet support MRS. SECORD, while LIEUT. FITZGIBBON offers her coffee, into which he has poured a little brandy, feeding her with the spoon.)
An 8th man (aside). She'll never walk to reach her friends to-night.
A 49th man (to a comrade). Jack, thou an' me can do't. 'Tyent the fust time
We've swung a faintin' comrade 'twixt us two;
An' her's just like a babby. Fatch a pole
An' blanket, an' we'll carry her.
A Sergeant. You'll then be in the rear, for we're to move.
Second 49th man. We'll catch ye oop a foight'n'; its summat wuth
To await o' sech as she.
Fitzgibbon (to Mrs. Secord). Are you better now?
Mrs. Secord (trying to stand). I think I am. Oh, sir, I'm losing you
The time I tried to save! Pray leave me—
I shall be better soon, and I can find my way.