From the arm of this young woman trickled a stream of bright, red blood.  Honora wondered if she was dead.  She gently shook her.

“Miss Ethel!” she called once and twice, “Are ye much hurt?” Then she half lifted her to a sitting posture and Ethel opened her eyes.

“Oh, Miss Casey—­Honora!” she gasped feebly.  “Thank God it is you who have found me.  I have been so frightened.  Two men were searching for me.  I passed them on the road before my horse took fright and threw me.  I heard them say:  ’It must be the same girl.  She rode a white horse.  Now I know who she is.  She’s the niece of John Hollister.  Her father is a rich New Yorker.  We can sell the horse.  We’ve got him safe, and we can keep the girl for a ransom.  Probably she’s injured and is lying somewhere around here.’  Nora, I dared not breathe lest they should find me.  I prayed to God as I’ve never prayed before to let them pass me and to send me help.  He has answered my prayer and I’m grateful.  When I heard your footsteps I thought they had returned.  Oh!  I am so glad that it’s you,” and she burst into tears.

Nora knelt down and took her by the hand.

“Where is your pain, my dear?” she asked.

“My leg.  I guess it must be broken, and my arm—–­I have had that nearly cut off.  The horse became frightened and unmangeable.  He turned into these woods and started to run.  I was knocked off by the branch of a tree.  I don’t know how long I’ve lain here—­it seems for hours.  I must have fainted, but Nora the pain in my arm and leg is terrible.  Whatever can we do?”

The girl’s hat hung from the tree.  Her hair was unloosed and hanging about her face.  Evidently she was suffering agony, and to make matters worse upon the leaves overhead Nora heard a pattering of rain.

“This will never do,” she said to herself.  Not a sign of a house or a vehicle in sight.  A damp chill pervaded the air.  They were too far from the main road to seek assistance.

“Your arm has been cut by this jagged stone, Miss Ethel,” said Nora, kneeling and starting to roll from the girl’s arm the sleeve of her blouse.  “I don’t think there are any bones broken.  But first I must stop its bleeding.”

Nora, having had considerable experience with cuts, wounds and bruises, went to work as though she were about to teach the girls “first aid.”

Her handkerchief was soiled.  Ethel had lost hers.  Both women wore silk petticoats.  How could she manage to secure a bandage?

Suddenly her mother wit came to the rescue.  She slipped off her linen skirt.  It was perfectly clean.  With her strong teeth she tore into strips the front breadth.

“Hark!” she exclaimed.  “Glory be to God!  I think I hear running water.”  She said it devoutly and in gratitude, for now it was water that she needed.  Taking Ethel’s hat from the tree she started up the road where to her joy she beheld a watering trough that was fed by a little waterfall trickling down the side of the rocks.