"Why," said Mrs. Landis, "that would be a nice job for Amanda. You go
up," she addressed the girl, "and stay a little with him. He'll
appreciate your comin' to see him."
Amanda's heart galloped. Her whole being was a mass of contradictions.
One second she longed to fly up the steps to where the plumed knight of
her girlish dreams lay, the next she wanted to flee down the country
road away from him.
She stood a moment, undecided, but Mrs. Landis had taken her compliance
for granted and was already busy with some of her work in the kitchen.
At length Amanda turned to the stairs, followed by several eager,
excited children.
"Here," called the mother, "Charlie, Emma, you just leave Amanda go up
alone. It ain't good for Mart to have so much company at once. I'll
leave you go up to-night." They turned reluctantly and the girl started
up the stairs alone, some power seeming to urge her on against her
will.
Martin Landis returned to consciousness through a shroud of enveloping
shadows. What had happened? Why was a strange man winding bandages
round his head? He raised an arm--it felt heavy. Then his mother's
voice fell soothingly upon his ears, "You're all right, Martin."
"Yes, you're all right," repeated the doctor, "but that other fellow
should have the bumps you got."
"That other fellow"--Martin thought hazily, then he remembered. The
whole incident came back to him, etched upon his memory. How he had
started from the car, eager to get to Amanda, then Lyman had come with
his news of her engagement and the hope in his heart became stark.
Where was her blue bunting with its eternal song? Ah, he had killed it
with his indifference and caution and foolish blindness! He knew he
stumbled along the road, grief and misery playing upon his heart
strings. Then came the frantic honk of the car and Lyman in its path.
Good enough for him, was the first thought of the Adam in Martin. The
next second he had obeyed some powerful impulse and rushed to the help
of the heedless Lyman. Then blackness and oblivion had come upon him.
Blessed oblivion, he thought, as the details of the occurrence returned
to him. He groaned.
"Hurt you?" asked the doctor kindly.
"No. I'm all right." He smiled between his bandages. "I think I can
rest comfortably now, thank you."
He was grateful they left him alone then, he wanted to think. Countless
thoughts were racing through his tortured brain. How could Amanda marry
Lyman Mertzheimer? Did she love him? Would he make her happy? Why had
he, Martin, been so blind? What did life hold for him if Amanda went
out of it? The thoughts were maddening and after a while a merciful
Providence turned them away from him and he fell to dreaming tenderly
of the girl, the Amanda of his boyhood, the gay, laughing comrade of
his walks in the woods. Tender, understanding Amanda of his hours of
unhappiness--Amanda--the vision of her danced before his eyes and
lingered by his side--Amanda--"Martin"--the voice of her broke in upon his dreaming! She stood in the
doorway and he wondered if that, too, was a part of his dream.