“Yes, Cherry?” he said, moistening his dry lips.

“Peter,” she said, “they say Martin’s living—­he was screaming—­” She grew deathly pale, and faintness swept over her, but she mastered it.  “He was caught by that tree,” she said.  “And he is living.  Will you tell them—­tell one of these men—­that if he will help me, we can drive him home.  If you’ll tell him that, then I’ll get a doctor—­”

“Yes, I will,” Peter said, not stirring.  His eyes had the look of a sleep-walker; he nodded slowly and gravely at her, like a very old man.  “You—­” he said to a man who had stopped his car near by and who was pressing sympathetically close.  “Will you—?”

“If you’ll sit in the back seat, dear, and just rest his poor head,” a woman said to Cherry.  Peter saw that they were lifting Martin’s big, senseless form in tender hands and carrying it through the little group.  There was a shudder as Martin moaned deeply.  Peter went and sat on the low bank by Alix again, and lifted one of her limp hands, and held it.  Ah, if in God’s mercy and goodness she might moan, he thought, that one slight ray of hope would flood all the world with light for him again!  But she did not stir.

“Gone?” said Cherry’s heartrending voice, a mere whisper, beside him.

He turned upon her lifeless eyes.

“Gone,” he echoed.

“Oh, Alix—­my darling!  My own big sister!”

Cherry sobbed, falling to her knees and passionately kissing the peaceful face.  “Oh, Alix, dearest!”

The women about broke into tears.  Peter pressed his hand close against his aching eyeballs, wishing that he might cry.

“She drove here,” he heard a man’s voice saying in the silence, “and she must have lost control of her car for a minute.  Then—­do you see?—­the wheel slipped on the bank.  Once it got this far, no power in God’s earth—­”

“No power in God’s earth!” another man’s voice said in solemn confirmation.

“Peter,” Cherry said, “will you come to me as soon as you can?  I shall need you.”

“As soon as I can,” he answered, absently.

The car drove away, and he heard Martin moan again as it moved.

“Joyce,” said a man’s kind voice close beside him.  He recognized the voice rather than the distressed face of an old friend and neighbour.  “Joyce, my dear fellow,” he urged, affectionately, “tell us what we may do, and we’ll see to it.  Pull yourself together, my dear old chap.  Now, shall I telephone for an—­an ambulance?  You must help us just a little here, and then we’ll spare you everything else.”

“Thank you, Fred,” Peter answered after a moment, during which he looked seriously and studiously at his friend, as if ascertaining through unseen mists and barriers the identity of the speaker.  “Thank you,” he said.  “Will you help me take—­my wife—­home?”

“You wish it that way?” the other man said, anxiously.

“Please,” Peter answered, simply.  And instantly there was moving and clearing in the crowd, a murmuring of whispered directions.