"Put me down."
"I must--I cannot."
Close to the water's edge he lays her down; then he stretches himself full length on the grass, and presses his hand to his heart and struggles for breath. His temples are throbbing, he is in a fair way to lose consciousness; but, pulling himself together with an effort, he bends his body towards the river, ladles out a handful of water and bathes his forehead with it.
That restores him to consciousness. He turns to Trude. She has buried her face in her hands and is moaning softly to herself.
"Does it hurt very much?" he asks.
"It burns!"
"Dip your foot in the water. That will cool it."
She drops her hands and looks at him in surprise.
"It has done me good," he says, pointing to his forehead, from which single drops of water are still trickling down. Then she bends forward and tries to pull off her shoe, but her hand trembles, and she grows faint with the effort. "Let me help you," he says. One pull--her shoe flies to one side; her stocking follows, and, pushing herself forward to the very edge of the bank, she dips her bare foot up to the ankle in the cooling stream.
"Oh, how refreshing it is!" she murmurs with a deep breath; then, turning to right and to left, she seeks a support for her body.