With
countless blessings on the noble young man, they laid him on the
grass at Edith's side, wounded, burned, smoke-stained, and totally
unconscious.
It was well for Richard that the entire household of Collingwood
were there to care for him, for Edith's thoughts were all bestowed
on Arthur. She hardly looked at Richard, but kneeling down by
Arthur, kissed, and pitied, and wept over his poor, raw, bleeding
hands, wiped the blood from the wound on the forehead, thinking
even then how it would be concealed by the brown hair--the hair
all singed and matted, showing how fiercely he had battled for his
life. Many gathered around her as she sat there with his head
pillowed on her lap, and from the anguish written on her face
learned what it was about which the curious villagers had so long
been pondering.
"He must go home with me," Grace Atherton said, "My carriage will
soon be here."
This reminded Edith that she too must act, and beckoning to
Victor, she bade him hasten to Collingwood and see that his
masters room was made comfortable.
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