"Mercy! No, indeed! Why, what has happened?"
Before either could answer, there came a shout from the direction of the lake shore.
"Doran, come—quick!"
They were directly opposite the mound, at its central or highest point, and, turning swiftly, James Doran saw the man Hopkins at the top of it, waving his arms frantically.
"Is he found?" called Doran, moving toward him.
"Yes. He's hurt!"
With the words Hopkins disappeared behind the knoll, but Doran was near enough to see that the man's face was scared and pale. He turned and called sharply to the lady, who had taken up her whip and was driving on.
"Madam, stop! There's a man hurt. Wait there a moment; we may need your horse." The last words were uttered as he ran up the mound, his companions close at his heels. And the lady checked the willing pony once more with a look half reluctant, wholly troubled.
"What a position," she said to herself, impatiently. "These villagers are not diffident, upon my word."
A few moments only had passed when approaching footsteps and the sound of quick panting breaths caused her to turn her head, and she saw James Doran running
