I was kneeling by her side, not knowing what to do, when a horror, as from the presence of death suddenly recognized, fell upon me. I thought she must be dead. But at the same moment, I hear, or seemed to hear, (how should I know which?) the rapid gallop of a horse, and the clank of a loose shoe. In an agony of fear, I caught her up in my arms, and, carrying her on my arms, as one carries a sleeping child, hurried back through the corridor. Her hair, which was loose, trailed on the ground; and, as I fled, I trampled on it and stumbled. She moaned; and that instant the gallop ceased. I lifted her up across my shoulder, and carried her more easily. How I found my way to the stair I cannot tell: I know that I groped about for some time, like one in a dream with a ghost in his arms. At last I reached it, and descending, crossed the hall, and entered my room. There I placed Lady Alice upon an old couch, secured the doors, and began to breathe--and think. The first thing was to get her warm, for she was cold as the dead. I covered her with my plaid and my dressing-gown, pulled the couch before the fire, and considered what to do next. CHAPTER IX _The First Waking_. While I hesitated, Nature had her own way, and, with a deep-drawn sigh, Lady Alice opened her eyes. Never shall I forget the look of mingled bewilderment, alarm, and shame, with which her great eyes met mine. But, in a moment, this expression changed to that of anger. Her dark eyes flashed with light; and a cloud of roseate wrath grew in her face, till it glowed with the opaque red of a camellia. She had almost started from the couch, when, apparently discovering the unsuitableness of her dress, she checked her impetuosity, and remained leaning on her elbow. Overcome by her anger, her beauty, and my own confusion, I knelt before her, unable to speak, or to withdraw my eyes from hers. After a moment’s pause, she began to question me like a queen, and I to reply like a culprit. “How did I come here?” “I carried you.” “Where did you find me, pray?” Her lip curled with ten times the usual scorn. “In the old house, in a long corridor.” “What right had you to be there?” “I heard a cry, and could not help going.” “Tis impossible.--I see. Some wretch told you, and you watched for me.” “I did not, Lady Alice.” She burst into tears, and fell back on the couch, with her face turned away. Then, anger reviving, she went on through her sobs:-- “Why did you not leave me where I fell? You had done enough to hurt me without bringing me here.” And again she fell a-weeping. Now I found words. “Lady Alice,” I said, “how could I leave you lying in the moonlight? Before the sun rose, the terrible moon might have distorted your beautiful face.” “Be silent, sir. What have you to do with my face?” “And the wind, Lady Alice, was blowing through the corridor windows, keen and cold as the moonlight. How could I leave you?” “You could have called for help.”