Helen was not one of those who long hesitate when their minds are to be made up; she slipped noiselessly between the stone mullion and the side of the window, and sprang out; unfortunately one foot turned on a small stone, and she fell on the sand, while a slight accent of pain unconsciously broke from her. Before she could rise, Forester was beside her; with one arm round her waist, he half pressed, as he assisted her to recover her feet.
“So, fair spirit,” said he, jocularly, “I have tracked you, it would seem;” then, for the first time discovering it was Helen, he muttered in a different tone, “I ask pardon, Miss Darcy; I really did not know—”
“I am sure of that, Captain Forester,” said she, disengaging herself from his aid. “I certainly deserve a lesson for my silly attempt to frighten you, and I believe I have sprained my ankle. Will you kindly send Florence to me?”
“I cannot leave you here alone, Miss Darcy; pray take my arm, and let me assist you back to the abbey.”
The tone of deference he now spoke in, and the increasing pain, concurred to persuade her, and she accepted the proffered assistance.
“The absurdity of this adventure is not repaid by the pleasure of having frightened you,” said she, laughing; “if I could only say how terrified you were—”
“You might indeed have said so,” interrupted Forester, “had I guessed the figure I saw leap out was yours.”
“It was even higher than I thought,” said she, avoiding to remark the fervent accents in which these words were spoken.
Forester was silent; his heart was full to bursting; the passion so lately dashed by doubts and suspicions returned with tenfold force now that he felt her arm within his own as step by step they moved along.
“You are in great pain, I fear,” said he, tremulously.