Suddenly, as he leaned forward, his heart filled with a vague grief, she opened her eyes--as blue as he remembered them, but now misty and dull.

She did not stir or speak, but gazed at him fixedly for a little space, and then the eyes closed again wearily, her head dropped over to the side, and she began to sink down.
Gordon sprang forward to keep her from rolling down the bank.

As he gently caught and eased her down on the soft carpeting of pine-needles, he observed how delicate her features were; the blue veins showed clearly on her temples and the side of her throat, and her face had that refinement that unconsciousness often gives.
Gordon knew that the best thing to do was to lower her head and unfasten her collar.

As he loosened the collar, the whiteness of her throat struck him almost dazzlingly.

Instinctively he took the little crumpled handkerchief that lay on the pine carpet beside her, and spread it over her throat reverently.