girl, now, and stand up, and
do as I bid you."

Then she stood up on the edge of the rock, holding tight by his arm.
How pleasant it was to be thus frightened, with such a protector near
her to insure her safety! And yet the chasm yawned, and the water ran
rapid and was very black. But if he asked her to make the spring, of
course she must make it. What would she not have done at his bidding?

"I can almost touch you, you see," he said, as he stood opposite,
with his arm out ready to catch her hand.

"Oh, Frederic, I don't think I can."

"You can very well, if you will only jump."

"It is ever so many yards."

"It is three feet. I'll back Aunt Julia to do it for a promise of ten
shillings to the infirmary."

"I'll give the ten shillings, if you'll only let me off."

"I won't let you off,--so you might as well come at once."

Then she stood and shuddered for a moment, looking with beseeching
eyes up into his face. Of course she meant to jump. Of course she
would have been disappointed had Aunt Julia come and interrupted her
jumping. Yes,--she would jump into his arms. She knew that he would
catch her. At that moment her memory of Daniel Thwaite had become
faint as the last shaded glimmer of twilight. She shut her eyes for
half a moment, then opened them, looked into his face, and made her
spring. As she did so, she struck her foot against a rising ledge of
the rock, and, though she covered more than the distance in her leap,
she stumbled as she came to the ground, and fell into his arms. She
had sprained her ankle, in her effort to recover herself.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, holding her close to his side.

"No;--I think not;--only a little, that is. I was so awkward."

"I shall never forgive myself if you are hurt."

"There is nothing to forgive. I'll sit down for a moment. It was my
own fault because I was so stupid,--and it does not in the least
signify. I know what it is now; I've sprained my ankle."

"There is nothing so painful as that."

"It hurts a little, but it will go off. It wasn't the jump, but I
twisted my foot somehow. If you look so unhappy, I'll get up and jump
back again."

"I am unhappy, dearest."

"Oh, but you mustn't." The prohibition might be taken as applying to
the epithet of endearment, and thereby her conscience be satisfied.
Then he bent over her, looking anxiously into her face as she winced
with the pain, and he took her hand and kissed it. "Oh, no," she
said, gently str