But this Florence would not permit, and made light of the fears he expressed.
“I shall catch a cold, perhaps, but it is unavoidable; or, rather, I have nothing to blame for it but my own folly in not watching the weather more carefully.”
Mr. Aylwinne’s uneasiness on her account was not appeased by this careless speech; and Florence, whom it alternately vexed and flattered, was thankful when the pony carriage came in sight.
Wrapping Fred in the coat she had refused, Mr. Aylwinne raised the boy in his arms to carry him down the hill, and Florence prepared to follow; but after taking two or three steps he looked back, and warned her not to attempt it.
“The rain has made the dry, short moss as slippery as glass,” he said. “And it will be impossible for you to keep your feet without assistance. Pray stay where you are until I can return.”
She obeyed so far as to stand still until he had passed out of sight, but her pride revolting against the idea of accepting his aid, or of leaning on his arm, she resolved to essay the descent without it.
Mr. Aylwinne had in no wise exaggerated the difficulty. Florence’s thin boots, with their flat soles, afforded no resistance to the glassy earth. She was fain to snatch desperately at the trees to save herself from being thrown down; and at last, in one long glissade, she was impelled forward until she was on the very brink of a sand pit, and only saved from being hurried into it by the projecting roots of an old ash tree, which she succeeded in grasping.
Frightened at the danger so narrowly escaped, and conscious that she must have wandered from the direct route, she tried to return to the spot where Mr. Aylwinne had left her. With difficulty she raised herself to her feet, for the fury of the lightning, and the beating of the rain in her face, dizzied her. Catching at the tufts of heather and the brushwood for support, she had nearly succeeded in returning to the path, when a flash, more vivid than any of the previous ones, lit up the murky air. A venerable tree, struck by the electric fluid, wavered and fell so immediately in the direction she was pursuing, that, shrieking and cowering down, she hid her face. Those mighty branches threatened to crush her beneath them, but she had no power to avert her doom. She knew that a fearful death was at hand, but time and strength to escape seemed alike to have left her. With a mighty crash the old tree measured its length upon the earth, that trembled beneath the shock; but Florence felt herself snatched from her dangerous position, and knew that she was safe and in the arms of Mr. Aylwinne.
CHAPTER XVI.
A MAN OF MYSTERY.