"I don't know, I'm sure--what a question!" And instantly a feeling of relief swept through him--she was _all right_--able to see the absurdity of his question more than he could have done! "But wherever I am, we can't be far apart; keep on calling, follow my voice--Austin--Austin--Austin--" "All right--coming--tell me--are you hurt?" "No--that is, not much." "How much?" "Dolly was frightened by the storm, bolted, and threw me off; I must have been stunned for a few minutes. I'm afraid I've sprained my ankle in falling, for I can't walk; and, oh, Austin, I'm awfully cold--and wet--and tired!" "I know; it's--it's been just hellish for you. Keep on speaking to me, I'm getting nearer." "I'll put out my hands, and then, when you get here, you won't stumble over me. I'm sure you're very near; your footsteps sound so." "How long have you been here, should you think?" "Oh, hours and hours. I was riding on the main road, when just what you predicted happened. It served me right--I ought to have listened to you. And so--oh, here you are--_I knew, all the time_, you'd come." He grasped the little cold, outstretched hands, and sank down beside her, chafing them in his own. "Thank God, I've found you," he said huskily, and gulped hard, pressing his lips together; then forcing himself to speak quietly, he went on, "Sylvia--tell me exactly what happened--if you feel able; but first, you must drink some brandy--I've got some for you--" "I don't believe I can. I was all right until a moment ago--but now everything seems to be going around--" Austin put his arm around her, and forced the flask to her lips; then the soft head sank on his shoulder, and he realized that she had fainted. Very gently he laid her on the ground, and fumbled in the dark for the fastenings of her habit; when it was loosened, he pulled off his coat and flannel shirt, putting the coat over her, and the shirt under her head for a pillow; then listening anxiously for her breathing, felt again for her mouth, and poured more brandy between her lips. There were a few moments of anxious waiting; then she sighed, moved restlessly, and tried to sit up. "Lie still, Sylvia; you fainted; you've got to keep very quiet for a few minutes." "How stupid of me! But I'm all right now." "I said, lie still." "All right, all right, I will; but you'll frighten me out of my wits if you use that tone of voice." "I didn't mean to frighten you; but you've got to keep quiet, for your own sake, Sylvia." "I thought you said you wouldn't call me Sylvia." "I've said a good many foolish things in the course of my life, and changed my mind about them afterwards." "Or feel sorry if I came to grief--" "And a good many untrue and wicked ones for which I have repented afterwards."