She crept up to him.

"No," Hugh told her, breathing heavily. "It was a rolling rock."

"How did you stop it? You must be hurt, crushed, bruised."

"My arm's wrenched--not badly." He had in fact wrenched it slightly.

"Your poor arm! You were so quick, so strong. You didn't think of
your own life. And I've been so cruel. Hugh, Hugh, kiss me."

Hugh took his reward, none the less sweet to his strange nature, in
that it was only potentially earned. And joy, like a warm flood, crept
up again to his heart. He sat on the hillside and held his small love
close. One of his arms moved stiffly, and he groaned a little. She
rubbed it for him.

"You'd better come home and let Bella and me fix it. It may be badly
hurt. You're sure it isn't broken?" she asked.

"Quite sure."

"Lean on me! I'll help you down. You can tell me where to step."

"Nonsense," he laughed, his very blood singing warm with relief. "A
strained arm won't hurt my walking apparatus. We had a lover's
quarrel, didn't we? And the boulder was peacemaker. Bless the
boulder!"