Nigel sprang to his feet. He remembered that not far off the path ran by the mouth of a disused chalk quarry, from which it was divided only by a very rickety fence. Suppose.... He crashed through the bushes to the path, and dashed along it to the chalk-pit. Something white lay only a few feet from the dreadful brink.
Just here the path was in darkness—hazel bushes and a dense thicket of alder shut out the sun. For a moment he could not make out clearly what had happened, but was immediately reassured by seeing Tony sit up, and try to struggle to her feet.
"What is it?" she cried, hearing his steps behind her. "Who's there?"
"Are you hurt?"
"Oh, Mr. Furlonger...."
She made another struggle to rise, but could not without his hand.
"Are you hurt?" he repeated.
"No-o-o."
"I think you are a little."
He was trembling all over, and hoped she did not notice it.