To leave her while he went for help meant, perhaps, leaving her to her death; while to carry her up the rugged cliff path was almost impossible in the dark.
While he was hesitating, a low moan from his burthen’s lips told of returning consciousness, and he roused her a little more.
“Why, Madge, my poor child,” he said, “has it come to this?”
She uttered a wild cry, and burst into a passion of sobbing.
“Let me go—let me die,” she cried passionately. “Why did you get me out?”
“Hush, Madge! Hush, girl!” he cried. “Are you mad?”
“Yes, yes,” she wailed, “and there is nothing for me but to die.”
“Nonsense, girl?” he cried, half angrily, for her unreason annoyed him. “Here, can you walk? Take hold of my arm, and let me help you home.”
“Home!” she wailed. “I have no home. My uncle has driven me away.”
“Then I’ll take you back,” cried Geoffrey, angrily. “The old man is mad.”