“There! Now think quietly for one moment, and tell me what we shall want! Where is she - high up? Shall I get some of these men to help.”
“She’s on an outhouse roof. I dropped down, but it hurt me, you see, and Vere daren’t attempt it. A ladder would do, just one ladder. There’s Mr Carstairs—he’ll come! I’ll tell him where to go.”
I did tell him, and the poor fellow’s face of mingled rapture and fear was touching to see; then Will went on in front, still carrying me in his arms, while the others followed with ladders and sheets and all kinds of things that might be needed. I was moaning to myself all the time, and Will put down his head and said tenderly—
“Does it hurt so much, poor little girl?”
But it was my heart which hurt; I was so terrified of what we were going to find.
She was still there. I lifted my head as we came round the corner of the house, and I could see her. She was not sitting as when I had left, but half standing, half crouching forward, her hands stretched out, her hair loose over her shoulders. She looked like a mad woman; she was mad, poor Vere, and the sight of us in the distance seemed to excite her more than ever. We called to her; we begged her to be calm, to sit still for one moment—just one moment longer. The men ran forward to reassure her, but she didn’t understand—she seemed past understanding. Just as help was within reach she threw out her arms with a dreadful cry and jumped, and her foot caught in the coping as she fell. Oh, I can’t write about it! I must forget, or I shall go mad myself!...
Chapter Ten.
August 16th.