“Oh!” she exclaimed, as a sharp, hot pain darted through her ankle. She saw that the two arms which held her were none of her father or brothers', and that they were covered with blue flannel.
Looking up to see the face above them, their eyes met. Hers expressed surprise, his merriment. But a change in their expression flashed instantaneously, and both felt each other tremble, thrilled with the bliss of their proximity. Her face was suffused with burning blushes. She was bewildered, and without daring to meet his eyes again, stammered an apology; extending her hand, to reach some chair or table to hold herself, but they all were crowded at both ends of the piazza.
“You are hurt. I am afraid you are hurt,” said he, with pale lips, reflecting the pallor he saw come to her face, succeeding her crimson blush. “I know you are suffering. What can I do? I am so sorry!”
“O no, I only turned my foot a little,” she answered, venturing to look at him for an instant. “I shall be all right in a minute.”
“If you turned your foot, don't put any weight upon it. Do not try to walk, let me carry you to a chair.”
“O no, no! I am not so much hurt as to require giving all that trouble.”
“Please let me. It will be no trouble; only a great pleasure.” He was in earnest and spoke quite seriously. “Are you afraid I could not carry you?”
“No, not that, but it is not necessary,” and she tried to walk. A quick, sharp, burning pain through her ankle admonished her that she was more hurt than she had believed. A slight contraction of her brows betrayed her pain.
“There! You will hurt yourself worse,” said he, and before she knew what he was going to do, he stooped a little and lifted her as easily as if she had been a little child. She had no time to think whether to be grateful or offended, for he quickly walked to the further end of the piazza and carefully placed her in a roomy arm chair. Then bending a knee before her, said:
“Forgive my lifting you without your permission. I knew you would not give it, and I knew also that you were suffering. Will you forgive me?” His voice was soft, caressing, pleading, but his eyes seemed to her to emit rays full of attractive, earnest force which she felt had great power. They dazzled her, and yet those eyes were so mild, so kind. She looked down, making no answer. “When Don Victoriano comes he can carry you to bed, and—please—take my advice, stay there until the pain has entirely left your foot.”