"Hush, my child. You are safe now," I said gently, in the soothing tone one might use to a child who had hurt itself.
And I held her in my arms in silence, my heart too full for words, as, indeed, hers was, with mingled fear, relief, and agitation.
"Where are you hurt, Minna?" I asked after a time. "Let's see if I cannot help you."
"Don't leave me; pray don't leave me," she whispered, clinging to me more tightly than ever. "I shall be better in a moment—now I am safe. I was running away from you. I was frightened when you jumped up suddenly in the road, and I fell and hurt my head. Don't leave me. I want to realize that I am really, really safe."
"Don't doubt that. None can hurt you now."
I would have added many a passionate protestation in my excitement, but I checked myself, remembering all I had yet to tell her. I let a longer interval pass before I spoke again; for, though I was burning with impatience to learn how she came to be in this way alone on the road and to take means to get her to some place of safety, I could not resist the thrilling delight of feeling her arms about me and her head nestling confidingly against my breast. The mere touch of her was an ecstasy of passion.
"Let me see to your hurt, Minna," I whispered. "We have a long journey before us."
At that she started, and began to tremble again, and said, her lips faltering as the words fell from them:
"I had forgotten. I had forgotten everything when I felt your arms around me; but he will follow us. We must hurry on. Where can I go to escape him?"
"You mean von Nauheim?" I asked, my face frowning at thought of him.