The old man muttered, incredulously: “You would break your neck!”
Leola answered, recklessly:
“I shall risk that unless you let me out of the door. Come, now, I will count ten. If you do not move before then I am gone,” and drawing her dainty little feet up into the window, and dangling them on the outside, she began counting in a clear, high voice:
“One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten!”
Wizard Hermann remained standing with his back toward the door, regarding her with an incredulous leer, never dreaming she would make the foolhardy leap, for from the window sill it was twenty feet to the ground.
But Leola was as good as her word.
While she counted she kept her flashing dark eyes full upon his stubborn face, and seeing that he did not move as the last word left her lips, she deliberately turned and sprang out upon the ground.
A cry of alarm shrilled over the old man’s lips, and he stood like one rooted to the spot, listening for the cry of pain that must announce the dread result of the perilous leap. Visions of Leola crippled or dead floated before his mind’s eye, and he muttered, savagely:
“Little vixen, if you have broken your neck it is your own fault! But if you live you shall marry the man of my choice one month from to-day, I swear it!”
The sound of her voice floated to him indistinctly—was it a laugh or a groan?