And joy, like a warm flood, crept
up again to his heart. He sat on the hillside and held his small love
close. One of his arms moved stiffly, and he groaned a little. She
rubbed it for him.
"You'd better come home and let Bella and me fix it. It may be badly
hurt. You're sure it isn't broken?" she asked.
"Quite sure."
"Lean on me! I'll help you down. You can tell me where to step."
"Nonsense," he laughed, his very blood singing warm with relief. "A
strained arm won't hurt my walking apparatus. We had a lover's
quarrel, didn't we? And the boulder was peacemaker. Bless the
boulder!"
"Don't joke, dear. You saved my life at the risk of your own. Are
you always doing insane, generous, dangerous things? Think if you
had been--" She shivered.
"Do you suppose my life is worth anything to me without yours,
Sylvie?" He bent his head and kissed her again, but he had learned
his lesson, and there was restraint and timidity in that kiss.
"The sun's come out," cried Sylvie.
"Yes, it's splendidly bright. There's a clean slit in the sky; there
at the western edge the dark gray cap is being lifted inch by inch,
the way a boy lifts his cap to see the butterfly he's caught.
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