“Esmeralda!” he called to her—as we all do under similar circumstances—and presently she opened her eyes. They were vacant, and her face was as white as death.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, anxiously.
“N-o—no; I don’t think so. What happened? Ah! yes; he slipped. It was my fault; you told me not to. One moment—everything is spinning round.”
She struggled to her feet in a minute or so, and he kept his arm around her supportingly.
The light came back to her eyes, and she laughed half apologetically.
“Serves me right for not doing as I was told!”
“Are you hurt? Are you hurt?” he queried, still anxiously.
“Not at all,” she said. “I’m used to falling—that’s how we learn at Three Star. I only feel—feel shaky.”
He could feel her trembling and quivering; and he drew her closer to him. A man’s pity for a lovely girl helpless and in pain passes description. At that moment he would have laid down his life for her—would have said, done anything.