I was dazed with the suddenness of it all; for a moment I could not think and did nothing but hug her close, her head against my shoulder, as I bent over her face and whispered, "Helen, dear! Helen!" over and over again.
At last she opened her eyes of her own accord, for I had taken no rational steps to aid her, and smiled at me. I held her still more closely, delirious with joy; her eyes grew serious as she looked back at me, until they melted into the tenderest grey any man has ever seen. Then we both understood; there was no need of further words; her hand sought mine and rested there with quiet confidence.
"It's my knee, Ted. I've wrenched it," she whispered. "I must have fainted—that wasn't like me, Teddy dear, was it?" Again she smiled such a happy little smile that actually a tear from my eyes fell upon her cheek.
I laid her gently down, roused to some vague trace of commonsense. "I'll get some water," I said, looking helplessly around at an arid country road.
"It's much more important, Ted, to catch the horses." There was truth in this. Mine was quietly cropping grass a few yards away; Helen's was doing the same about a hundred yards further on. Leonidas joined us, evidently in deep concern. It was a simple matter to catch my horse, for he had been trained to come at command. Helen refused again to let me help her until I had made a try for her animal. I mounted and rode cautiously up to the mare; she gave a toss of her head and was off for a few yards further. We repeated this several times with the same results. Next I dismounted and advanced with elaborate flattery. Useless; the beast would not allow herself to be caught. I was in despair, imagining Helen to be suffering pain which somehow my presence might alleviate, while this confounded horse was taking me straight away. Apparently, however, the horse tired of the game after a few more minutes, or else her feminine nature desired to assert itself in a new way; as I was about to give it up as a bad job she unexpectedly permitted me to walk right up to her and seize the bridle. Needless to say, the three of us were not long in returning to Helen.
She was sitting up with one foot straight out in front of her, Leonidas proudly beside her. "I can stand on it, Ted," she called out, "but riding is out of the question." It was rapidly growing dark, and we were several miles from home. The roads we chose for riding were the unfrequented by-ways; it seemed unlikely, therefore, that there was much hope of anything passing. Also it was cold. These things we ruefully enumerated to each other.
"Do you feel much pain?" I asked when we had exhausted the list of other disadvantages in the situation. We both avoided reference to what we knew had happened when she first opened her eyes in my arms.
"It hurts only if I bend it. I don't dare take my riding boot off for fear I couldn't get it on again. It's only a twist—nothing broken, or I couldn't stand. Isn't it ridiculous, Ted?" and she laughed.
"I don't want to leave you here alone—in the dark—while I get help, dearest—and yet I don't see what else to do."
"Indeed, you won't leave me alone, Ted, if I stay here all night. We'll just wait. Perhaps I'll be able to walk after a little rest."