"Pardon me, but I fear you are suffering from your sprain."
"Somewhat," she admitted, through her white lips.
"Bear it as bravely as you can," he said. "In a few minutes you will be at home, and can have medical attention. Sprains are quite serious things sometimes, though I hope yours may not result that way."
"I hope not," she echoed, growing paler and paler, and biting her lips to repress the moan of pain that trembled on them. She was really suffering acute pain from the twisted ankle.
He was silent a minute, studying the beautiful, pale face with admiring eyes.
She looked up and met a world of deep sympathy shining on her from his keen, dark eyes.
"I was very fortunate in meeting you, Colonel Carlyle," she said, gently. "Believe me, I am much indebted for your timely aid."
"I am glad to have been of service to your father's daughter," said the colonel, bowing. "I knew your father intimately in the army, Miss Vere. We were friends, though the general was my junior in age and my superior in rank. I have often wondered what poor Harry's daughter was like. He was so frank, so handsome, so chivalrous, so daring."
The girl's blue eyes lit up with pleasure at his praise of the father who had died in her infancy, but whose memory she loved and revered. She put out her hand, saying proudly:
"I thank you for your praise of him, Colonel Carlyle. Let my father's friend be mine also."