“Her head!” exclaimed Jane, frightened at the deathly face she now stared down at.

“Can we carry her?  This is so far from a building,” gasped Judith.  “Oh, Jane, see the blood!”

“I can easily carry her,” answered Dozia quickly.  “Let me pick her up, and take her or my shoulder.”

“Wait,” Jane cautioned.  “It might be dangerous.  We must stretch her out flat so that her head is down.  There, she may soon regain consciousness.  I wonder if one of us should run up to Madison?”

“I’ll go,” volunteered Judith, evidently glad to escape from the horror of the scene.  “See, the other rider is still galloping!  She can’t stop her horse.  Oh, how terrible if the runaway gets out among the autos.”

“Hurry, Judith,” Jane begged.  “Have them bring a stretcher.  I am sure we shouldn’t lift her head; her face is bloodless.”

“She appears to be recovering,” Dozia whispered.  “Poor Shirley!  How dreadful that this should happen!”

“If only she lives,” moaned Jane, contrition in voice.  Somehow it was unbearable that this country girl had been so severely censored by Jane and her companions.  As she lay there, all the horrors of her unhappy school days seemed to fly up and strike Jane in a charge of bitterness.

“I’m sure she is only stunned,” Dozia said consolingly.  “See, Jane, there is a tiny streak of color coming.  She will soon react.”

Yes, the pallor was melting into a film more lifelike, but the heavy eyelids looked so deathly!  How awful to gaze upon that mockery of death-complete unconsciousness’.

“Her horse is walking off quietly, Jane,” again Dozia spoke.  “I believe the animal is wise enough to know he should not go without his rider.”

Even the riderless horse, with his solemn clip-clapping, echoed a terrifying note to the scene.  It was all so appalling.

“Shirley!  Shirley!” whispered Jane, close to the ear of the stricken girl.

Then “Shirley?” repeated the blue lips in a questioning answer.  “Where?  Oh, my head!” and a spasm of pain struck across the white face.

“You are all right, Shirley, dear,” Jane comforted, relief in her voice.  “You just fell from your horse.  Lie still until we can take you to the infirmary.  Do you feel a little better?” How wonderful to hear the stricken girl speak again!

“The awful noise in my ears!” she gasped.  “Like a torrent rushing—­”

“That’s only the returning circulation,” said Dozia in the same quiet monotone Jane had used.

What a relief!  To know her mind was clear!  And the blood streak on her neck seemed now only from surface scratches—­the briars had torn her flesh cruelly as she dashed down that hill.

Over the same hill, but not by the same route, could now be seen the stretcher bearers.  With four seniors were also Miss Rutledge, the dean, and Miss Fairlie, the matron of Madison.  They were hurrying and silent, only the light tread of crackling leaves on the bridle path accompanying the grave little procession.