Dorothy felt strangely dizzy and bewildered when she began to walk, and though she held fast to Giulia's strong hand on one side, and to Francesco's on the other, she tottered and tumbled about from side to side, and was not sorry when Giulia took her up in her arms and carried her with swift, firm steps down into the wide street of San Remo.
It would have been quite dark now if it had not been for the light of a crescent moon, which hung like a silver bow over the sea. Just as they reached the upper road the doctor who attended Mrs. Acheson passed them quickly. He turned as he passed the group, and recognised Francesco, who was a little in advance of Giulia and her burden.
"Hi! Francesco," he said; "has anything been heard of the little lady?"
"Oh, Dr. Forman! Oh, Dr. Forman!" exclaimed Dorothy.
"Why, here is the lost lamb," said the doctor. He had a little girl of his own, and he was as delighted as possible that Dorothy was safe. "Why, Dorothy," he said, "your poor mamma has been made quite ill with fright; and your nurse, and Willy Montague, and that nice little friend of yours, have been hunting for you high and low. Where have you been?"
But Dorothy was sobbing too much to speak, and Giulia told Dr. Forman, who understood Italian as well as his own language, the story of Dorothy's fall, the cut on her forehead, and how she had taken her into her house and done all she could for her.
"Well, bring her home," the doctor said; "and, Francesco, run off and try to find the searching party; they must be worn out."
"Please, Dr. Forman," Dorothy gasped, "this woman has been very, very kind to me." Then she lifted her little hand, and stroking Giulia's face, said,—
"Grazia, grazia."
"The little angel!" Giulia said. "She is just an angel, and I am glad I found her; that I am."