Without losing her head, with the rapidity and cool decision of a trained acrobat, stretching out one arm and holding hard with the other, and with her breast flat against the wounding rungs, Helia by a mighty effort grasped Phil’s wrist as he slid past her. The hand-rail held firm, and Phil was saved. Then they came back again to their oasis.
“Without you I should have been lost,” said Phil.
“Oh, no!” Helia answered, laughing bravely. “We were almost down, close to the roof; you would have had a slide, that’s all!”
“Come, pull yourself together,” Helia said, “and then to supper!”
She reached out her hand and took an apple gracefully and offered it to Phil.
“Here, eat!”
Her simple gesture in offering him the apple had, to Phil’s mind, something grandly Biblical in it, and the idea overpowered him. As she held out her hand Phil saw that it was bleeding, and exclaimed with anxiety.
“It is nothing,” she answered; “it was just now—perhaps while I was holding on to the railing.”
With infinite respect he put his lips to the wound—and suddenly he seemed to be drinking love at its source; the fire ran through his veins; he seized Helia with both arms and kissed her full on the mouth, crushing his lips against hers!