Zenas, I cannot see! The road be turning black before me!" And Zenas looked back in time to see the girl slump forward in her saddle, a pathetic, unconscious burden.
It was not many minutes later that Sally opened her eyes and felt wonderingly of her dripping face. She was lying upon some soft turf beside the road, whither Zenas had managed to half drag, half carry her. Zenas himself, a frightened pallor showing beneath the tan and freckles of his face, was kneeling beside her, the water, which he had obtained from a near-by brook, still brimming in his three-cornered hat.
"Ye did—did swoon, Sally!" he stammered.
"Nay, 'twas the heat," murmured the girl. She struggled to a sitting posture. "Where be the horses?" she asked anxiously.
"Right here behind ye," said Zenas reassuringly. "It must have been the heat, Sally, as ye say. Then, too, ye did work hard this morn i' Mistress Harrison's kitchen, preparing the noon meal."
"But I always work hard," protested Sally wonderingly. "Indeed, 'tis not like me to ha' the megrims—only fine ladies ha' the megrims, Zenas!"
"Mayhap ye be a fine lady and know it not, Sally," returned Zenas, grinning, his fright at Sally's sudden collapse beginning to leave him. He looked at her soberly, then. "Think ye ye will be able to continue the journey?" he asked worriedly.
