Then was a rattle of stones, and a shout from some one in the track
below, and I started and saw a head slowly rising above the edge of
the cliff as if its owner had climbed up to us. White and streaked
with blood was the face, but it was not crushed or marred, and it
was Erpwald's.
"Lend me a hand," he said, as we stared at him, as one needs must
stare at one who comes back as it were from the grave. "My head
swims even yet."
I grasped his hand and helped him to the grass, and once there he
stood upright and shook himself, looking round in an astonished way
as he did so.
"No broken bones," he said. "Where is Elfrida? Is she all right? I
was rough with her, I fear, but I could not help it. Could I have
managed otherwise?"
"In no way better," I said, finding my tongue at length. "She has
gone to the village. But where have you been!"
"In a long hole just over here," he answered. "But how long has she
been gone?"
"How long do you think that you have been in your hole?"
"A few minutes. It cannot be long. Yet it must have been longer
than I thought, for the shadows are changed."
It was a full hour and a half since he fell, but I did not say so,
lest it should be some sort of shock to him. So I bade him sit down
while I saw to a cut there was on his head--the only sign of hurt
that he had.
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