"It is almost eleven. Oh, I'm so glad I found you! I'm going to help you down." She stooped lower to assist him.
"But I don't understand," he said in astonishment. "How in the world did you happen to come? What does it all mean?" His bewilderment was comic enough to draw forth her flashing smile.
"We'll talk about that afterwards. We must get down this hill first. Oh, I hope there are no bones broken."
"Oh, no, I'm all right," he insisted, "but it's like a dream! Let me think—I was up on Telegraph Hill, and I slipped and fell over—then I must have been unconscious until you came.—How did you happen to come? I don't understand. It's so mysterious."
"You must get up now. See if you can walk." She gently urged him. "I'll explain it all when you're safe down there where we can get help."
With her assistance he raised himself slowly, but the pain in his ankle was too great for him to support his own weight. He dropped limply down again and smiled up at her.
"I think I might make it if I had a crutch of some kind—any stick would do."
"Wait, I'll see if I can find one."
She left him, to go down, slipping dangerously at times, using her hands to save herself. Part-way down she found an old broom—the straw was worn to a mere stub, and this she brought back.
With its aid and that of her steady arm, he hobbled down foot by foot. He slid and fell with a suppressed groan more than once, but she was always ready to lift him and support his weight in the steeper descents. The lower part of the hill fanned out to a more gradual slope, where it was easier going. They reached the sidewalk at last and he sat down upon a large rock almost exhausted.