"How changed?"
"In the boat you did nought but cry out and rail 'gainst fortune, but now, Martin—"
"Now," says I, "the sun is low and night cometh apace in these latitudes, let me know you sheltered ere it be dark!" and sheathing my knife I rose. Then seeing what effort she made to come to her knees, I reached her my hand aiding her up to her feet. So she takes a step and, stifling a cry of pain, would have fallen but for my arm.
"O Martin," says she, with rueful shake of the head, "I fear I cannot walk."
"Lean on me—"
"'Tis vain," says she, catching her breath, "I cannot set this foot to ground."
"Have you any bones broke?"
"Nay, 'tis none so bad as that—"
"Where's your hurt?"
"My knee—my ankle! And I'm direly bruised, Martin."