"Scalp wound, perhaps fractured skull, broken arm," Jane heard him
saying aloud to himself. She noted curiously that as soon as he was left
to himself he began speaking in English.
He left Dean and approached her. As he came nearer she closed her eyes
again, trying to plan some course of action. Her head was throbbing so
that she found it impossible to think. She felt toward young Hoff a
warmth of gratitude for not having gone off and left them helpless as
his uncle had insisted. Even though he was an enemy of her country, a
man to be hated, a spy, she could not help being glad for his presence
there. What would she have done without him, with Dean lying there
injured and helpless on this lonely mountain road?
"This chap seems only stunned," she heard him say as he bent over her,
then as he looked closer, she heard him exclaim:
"My God, it's Jane!"
In an instant he was down at her side on his knees. Tenderly one of his
arms went about her and lifted her head.
"Miss Strong, Jane, Jane," he implored, "Jane dear, speak to me."
Stunned though she still was a flush crept into Jane's cheeks at the
unexpected term of endearment, though she still kept her eyes closed.
Gently he laid her back on the turf and hastened to the automobile,
returning with a flask which he held to her lips.
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