Dorothy had received a slight wound upon the temple, and blood was trickling down her face upon her neck and ruff.

Her hair had fallen from its fastenings.

She had lost her hat, and her gown was torn in shreds and covered with mud.

I lifted the half-conscious girl to her feet and supported her; then with my kerchief I bound up the wound upon her temple.
"Poor Dolcy," she said, almost incoherently, "I have killed her and I have failed--I have failed.

Now I am ready to die.