Slung over his shoulders Peter carried an extra wrap for her. Whatever had happened, whether she were hurt or merely stranded somewhere, he knew she would not be warmly enough clad to meet the sudden coolness of the evening.
"You must be nearly perished with cold—asleep up here! Put this on," he said quickly.
"No, really"—she pushed aside the woollen coat he tendered. "I'm not cold. It was quite sheltered here under this wall."
"Put it on," he repeated quietly. "Do as I tell you—little pal."
At that she yielded and he helped her on with the coat, fastening it carefully round her.
"And now tell me what possessed you to go to sleep up here?" he demanded.
In a few words she related what had happened, winding up:
"Afterwards, I suppose I must have fainted. Oh!"—with a shiver of remembrance—"It was simply ghastly! I've never felt giddy in my life before—and hope I never may again! It's just as if the bottom of the world had fallen out and left you hanging in mid-air! . . . I knew I couldn't face the climb down again, so—so I just went to sleep. I thought some of you would be sure to come to look for me."
"You knew I should come," he said, a sudden deep insistence in his voice. "Nan, didn't you know it?"
She lifted her head.