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 with terror. Jenny caught her just in time to prevent her from falling to the ground, bathed her temples, and when she had come a little to herself, put her down on the grass, leaning against a tree. She then ran back to the baron, laid his head on her lap again, and bathed his forehead as well as she could with the wet handkerchief. The baroness stared at her like one dazed for a while, then, standing up with difficulty, she went to her brother, and kneeling down beside him, whispered, her teeth chattering all the time, “Is he killed?”

“I fear so,” said Jenny.

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t say so!” cried his sister. “What shall we do?—oh, what shall we do?”

“Go to the pond and dip pocket-handkerchiefs in the water; we cannot do anything else for him.”

The baroness did what she was told, silently and quickly, and Jenny kept on bathing and wiping his wounded temple and his forehead, without moving or taking her eyes off his face.

Some long, anxious minutes passed; the deadly swoon did not relax; but still the observant girl thought she saw some faint signs that life was slowly returning. His lips quivered, his right hand just stirred. Jenny exulted inwardly, and spoke to him in a low tone.

“Edmund, come to yourself; for God’s sake, come back!”

The baron moved his head slightly, and heaved a deep sigh.

“Oh! is there any hope? Is he alive?” asked Sály.

“He is not dead, but he has not come to himself yet. We must have water—more water, baroness.”

The baron moved his head again, and his left arm. A spasm of pain contracted his features. The glazed