She caught her breath on a sob, and stiffened in his hold. He felt her little hands close on his arm. Then she began to tremble.
“No, there is nothing to frighten you,” he said in his cool way. “You will be better directly.”
“Oh!” The exclamation sounded terrified. “Who are you? Oh, let me go!”
“Certainly I will let you go, but are you able to stand yet? You do not know me, but I am perfectly harmless, I assure you.”
She made a feeble attempt to struggle up, and succeeded only in crouching on the path in a woebegone huddle, saying through her sobs: “I must go! Oh, I must go! I ought not to have come!”
“That I can well believe,” said Sir Richard, still on his knee beside her. “Why did you come? Or is that an impertinent question?”
It had the effect of redoubling her sobs. She buried her face in her hands, shuddering, and rocking herself to and fro, and gasping out unintelligible phrases.
“Well!” said a voice behind Sir Richard.
He looked quickly over his shoulder. “Pen! What are you doing here?”
“I followed you,” replied Pen, looking critically down at the weeping girl. “I brought a stout stick too, because I thought you were going to meet the odious stammering-man, and I feel sure he means to do you a mischief. Who is this?”