"What is it, sweet?" I whispered.
"My ankle!" she murmured; "O Jack, it hurts so!" and with that she
fainted.
Half an hour--thirty mortal (but seemingly immortal) minutes I knelt
by her side ministering to her. I bound up the poor foot, gave her
brandy from my flask. I fanned her face with my handkerchief. In a
few minutes she came to, but only, poor child, to sob with her bitter
pain. Move she could not, and would not. Again and again she entreated
me to go and leave her. At last I persuaded her to try and bear the
agony of being carried in my arms the rest of the way. I raised her as
gently as I could, wrung to the heart by her gallantly stifled groan,
and slowly and painfully I made my way, thus burdened, to the edge of
the wood. There were no sentries in sight, and with a new spasm of
hope I crossed the open land and neared the little wicket gate that
led to the jetty. A sharp turn came just before we reached it, and, as
I rounded this with the signorina lying yet in my arms, I saw a horse
and a man standing by the gate. The horse was flecked with foam and
had been ridden furiously. The man was calm and cool.
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