The Rocks of Valpré | Page 4

raising his black head,
"Yes," she said, with a sigh of relief. "I'm very glad of that. Must you pull it any tighter? I--I can bear it, of course, but I'd much rather you didn't if--if you don't mind."
She spoke gaspingly. Her eyes were full of tears, though she kept them resolutely from falling.
"Poor little one!" he said. "But you are very brave. Once more--so--and we will not do it again. The pain is not so bad now, no?"
He looked up at her with a smile so kindly that Chris nearly broke down altogether. She made a desperate grab after her self-control, and by dint of biting her lower lip very hard just saved herself from this calamity.
It was a very pleasing face that looked into her own, olive-hued, with brows as delicate as a woman's. A thin line of black moustache outlined a mouth that was something over-sensitive. He was certainly quite a captivating fairy prince.
Chris shook the thick hair back upon her shoulders and surveyed him with interest. "It's getting better," she said. "It was a horrid cut, wasn't it? You don't know how it hurt."
"But I can imagine it," he declared. "I saw immediately that it was serious. Mademoiselle cannot attempt to walk."
"Oh, but I must indeed!" protested Chris in dismay. "I shall be drowned if I stay here."
He shook his head. "Ah no, no! You shall not stay here. If you will accept my assistance, all will be well."
"But you can't--carry me!" gasped Chris.
He rose to his feet, still smiling. "And why not, little one? Because you think that I have not the strength?"
Chris looked up at him speculatively. She felt no shyness; he was not the sort of person with whom she could feel shy. He was too kindly, too protecting, too altogether charming, for that. But he was of slender build, and she could not help entertaining a very decided doubt as to his physical powers.
"I am much heavier--and much older--than you think," she remarked at length.
He laughed boyishly, as if she had made a joke. "_Mais c'est dr?le, cela_! Me, I have no thoughts upon the subject, mademoiselle. I believe what I see, and I assure you that I am well capable of carrying you across the rocks to Valpré. You lodge at Valpré?"
Chris nodded. "And you? No," hastily checking herself, "don't tell me! You live in the Magic Cave, of course. I knew you were there. It was why I came."
"You knew, mademoiselle?" His eyes interrogated her.
She nodded again in answer. "You have lived there for hundreds of years. You were under a spell, and I came and broke it. If I hadn't cut my foot, you would have been there still. Do you really think you can lift me? And what shall you do when you come to cross the rocks? They are much too slippery to walk on."
He stooped to raise her, still smiling. "Have no fear, mademoiselle! I know these rocks by heart."
She laughed with a child's pure merriment. "Oh, I am not afraid, preux chevalier. But if you find me too heavy--"
"If I cannot carry the queen of the fairies," he interrupted, "I am not worthy of the name."
He had her in his arms with the words, holding her lightly and easily, as if she had been an infant. His eyes smiled reassuringly into hers.
"So, mademoiselle! We depart for Valpré!"
"What fun!" said Chris.
It seemed she was to enjoy her adventure after all, adverse circumstances notwithstanding. Her foot throbbed and burned, but she put this fact resolutely away from her. She had found the knight, and, albeit he was French, she was very pleased with him. He was the prettiest toy that had ever yet come her way.
Possibly in this respect the knight's sentiments resembled hers. For she was very enchanting, this English girl, fresh as a rose and gay as a butterfly, with a face that none called beautiful but which most paused to admire. It was the vividness, the entrancing vitality of her, that caught the attention. People smiled almost unwittingly when little Chris Wyndham turned her laughing eyes their way; they were so clear, so blue, so confidingly merry. There was a rare sweetness about her, a spontaneous charm irresistibly winning. She loved everybody without effort, as naturally as she loved life, with an absence of self-consciousness so entire that perhaps it was not surprising that she was loved in return.
"You are much stronger than you look, preux chevalier," she remarked presently. "But wouldn't you like to set me down while you go and fetch my sandals? They are over there on the rocks. It would be a pity for them to get washed away, and I might manage to walk with them on."
He had brought her safely over the most difficult part of the way. He