"Grace, my darling! Speak to me!"
I tried to speak, but could only smile and lean upon his arm in deep content, and the figure bent over me and placed his cheek against my lips, and laid a hand upon my heart, and seemed to cry for help; but the cry was faint and indistinct, like that of a distant echo.
Then another form appeared—taller and more stalwart—and I felt myself raised from the ground and carried to the top of the masonry, where formless hands grasped me, and I sank—sank—with a feeling that I was descending into the bowels of the earth—into oblivion again.
When I next awoke my mind was clearer, but I was still dazed. I half opened my eyes and found myself in my own bed, with the housekeeper seated at my side, and Dr. Trempest and the squire talking together in quiet tones by the fire.
"How in thunder did they get her down?" the doctor was asking.
"Derwent heard the story as he got to the Hall and he fetched a short ladder and climbed up as far as he could, and did some wonderful gymnastics," replied the squire; "but Goodenough's sons came hurrying up with longer ladders, and they lashed three together side by side, and managed in that way. Derwent couldn't lift her, but Ben Goodenough has the strength of an ox. But it was a tough job in a high wind on a rickety floor."
"Well, it's a miracle, that's all I can say. I must go see Martha Treffit's child now, but I'll look in to-morrow, early on."
"You are sure there is no cause for anxiety?" inquired the squire anxiously; "she will come round all right?"
"As right as a bobbin," replied the doctor cheerfully. "There's only the least bit of concussion. She was more frightened than hurt. I'll send her up a bottle when I get back."
"You needn't trouble," I ejaculated; "it won't be mixed with faith this time."