They managed to get him hobbling and slipping to the first green tuft of the base, where long black tongues of slate-rubble pouring into the grass, like shore-waves that have spent their burden, seem about to draw back to bring the mountain down. Thence to the level pasture was but a few skips performed sliding.
'Well, now,' said Chillon, 'you can stand?'
'Pretty well, I think.' He tried his foot on the ground, and then stretched his length, saying that it only wanted rest. Anton pressed a hand at his ankle and made him wince, but the bones were sound, leg and hip not worse than badly bruised. He was advised by Anton to plant his foot in the first running water he came to, and he was considerate enough to say to Chillon
'Now you can leave me; and let me thank you. Half an hour will set me right. My name is Woodseer, if ever we meet again.'
Chillon nodded a hurried good-bye, without a thought of giving his name in return. But Carinthia had thrown herself on the grass. Her brother asked her in dismay if she was tired. She murmured to him: 'I should like to hear more English.'
'My dear girl, you'll have enough of it in two or three weeks.'
'Should we leave a good deed half done, Chillon?'
'He shall have our guide.'
'He may not be rich.'
'I'll pay Anton to stick to him.'