It was the figure of a cheaply dressed young man, who, as she looked, seemed to make an ineffectual effort to rise.
"Is that man ill ?" she exclaimed.

"I think he must be." They went towards him at once, and when they reached him he lifted a dazed white face, down which a stream of blood was trickling from a cut on his forehead.

He was, in fact, very white indeed, and did not seem to know what he was doing.
"I am afraid you are hurt," Betty said, and as she spoke the rest of the party joined them.

The young man vacantly smiled, and making an unconscious-looking pass across his face with his hand, smeared the blood over his features painfully.

Betty kneeled down, and drawing out her handkerchief, lightly wiped the gruesome smears away.