An adventurous group were tying a dozen or more toboggins together, which they called an omnibus; and Jack Vavasour, in the character of conductor, was holding up his hand, and cadging for passengers.
"Any more for the Brook or Gore Vale? Room for two still in the 'Lightning' 'bus! No more?--then we are off. Link arms, ladies and gentlemen;" and the unwieldy apparatus was started. The couplings divided half-way down. About seven reached the bottom, the remaining five were upset, and were left there. Cecil was in the latter division, and having extricated herself from the _débris_, slowly ascended the hill.
She was rather tired now, and slightly bored; and began wondering what had become of her escort. He had not been in the coach, nor was he among the noisy, chattering party approaching her.
"Has anyone seen Captain Du Meresq?" asked she.
"Ten minutes ago he was death on the big jump," said Jack. "He took Delamere to start him; and I think Miss Tremaine went too."
A shade passed over Cecil's face. "Would you ask him, Mr. Vavasour, to get the sleigh? It is quite time we were going."
Another quarter of an hour passed, but no signs of Jack or Bertie. Cecil kept up a desultory conversation with Mrs. Anderson; but a vague impatience and restlessness came over her. She looked in the direction of the big jump, and it seemed to her a point of attraction that gathered up the stragglers, who all converged towards it. There was quite a crowd there now. Mrs. Anderson's platitudes became maddening. Then she observed Lilla coming from the same direction, and beckoning. She sprang to meet her.
"Cecil," cried Lilla, "don't be frightened." Why do people always use this agitating formula? "But the fact is poor Bertie has had an awful cropper. Good gracious, Cecil! don't look like that! Are you going to faint! He is not so very much hurt,--stunned a bit at first."
"How was it?" said the other, breathing again, and pressing forward.
"He was going down the drop. Captain Delamere was to push him off, which he did with a vengeance. He didn't mean any harm, though he don't like a bone in poor Bertie's body. However, the toboggin snapped in two from the concussion in landing. Bertie was shot out and rolled to the bottom, which would not have mattered, only he struck his head against some snag or stone hidden by the snow. We looked down, but he didn't seem to move, and we got frightened. I had had nearly enough jumping, but I took Captain Delamere on my toboggin--didn't trust him to steer, I can tell you, my dear--and bumped down quite safe. Bertie was insensible, with a queer cut on his forehead; so I extracted the solitaire out of his shirt-collar, and Captain Delamere gave him a nip out of his pocket-pistol, and then he seemed to pull himself together and sat up. A lot of people had collected round, and Mr. Vavasour asked me to come and tell you. Oh, here he is."