Rupert ran to
a stream that trickled by the side of the road, dipped his
handkerchief in water, and returning, wiped the blood from the face
and wound.
"It is a pistol bullet, I imagine," he said to him; "but I do not
think the ball has entered her head; it has, I think, glanced off.
Fasten the horses up to that rail, Hugh, get some water in your
hands, and dash it in her face."
The peasant paid no attention to what was being done, but sat
absorbed in grief; mechanically patting the child beside him.
"That's it, Hugh. Now another. I do believe she is only stunned.
Give me that flask of spirits out of my holster."
Hugh again dashed water in the woman's face, and Rupert distinctly
saw a quiver in her eyelid as he did so. Then forcing open her
teeth, he poured a little spirit into her mouth, and was in a
minute rewarded by a gasping sigh.
"She lives," he exclaimed, shaking the peasant by the shoulder.
The man looked round stupidly, but Rupert pointed to his wife, and
again poured some spirits between her lips. This time she made a
slight movement and opened her eyes. The peasant gave a wild scream
of delight, and poured forth a volume of words, of which Rupert
understood nothing; but the peasant kneeling beside him, bent his
forehead till it touched the ground, and then kissed the lappet of
his coat--an action expressive of the intensity of his gratitude.
Rupert continued his efforts until the woman was able to sit up,
and look round with a frightened and bewildered air.
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