“He can’t go back, the vines are so torn and weak; and how will he get down the lower wall? for you see the ivy grows up from that ledge, and there is nothing below. How could he do it? I was only joking when I lamented that there were no knights now, ready to leap into a lion’s den for a lady’s glove,” returned Amy, half angry.
In breathless silence they watched the climber till his cap was full of flowers, and taking it between his teeth, he rapidly swung down to the wide ledge, from which there appeared to be no way of escape but a reckless leap of many feet on to the turf below.
The girls stood in the shadow of an old gateway, unperceived, and waited anxiously what should follow.
Lightly folding and fastening the cap together, he dropped it down, and, leaning forward, tried to catch the top of a young birch rustling close by the wall. Twice he missed it; the first time he frowned, but the second he uttered an emphatic, “Deuce take it!”
Helen and Amy looked at each other with a mutual smile and exclamation,—
“He knows some English, then!”
There was time for no more—a violent rustle, a boyish laugh, and down swung the slender tree, with the young man clinging to the top.
As he landed safely, Helen cried, “Bravo!” and Amy rushed out, exclaiming reproachfully, yet admiringly,—
“How could you do it and frighten us so? I shall never express a wish before you again, for if I wanted the moon you’d rashly try to get it, I know.”
“Certainement, mademoiselle,” was the smiling reply, Casimer presented the flowers, as if the exploit was a mere trifle.