. Glancing up at last I found my companion regarding me
with strange expression.

"Methinks you are greatly changed!" says she.

"How changed?"

"In the boat you did nought but cry out and rail 'gainst fortune, but
now, Martin--"

"Now," says I, "the sun is low and night cometh apace in these
latitudes, let me know you sheltered ere it be dark!" and sheathing my
knife I rose. Then seeing what effort she made to come to her knees, I
reached her my hand aiding her up to her feet. So she takes a step
and, stifling a cry of pain, would have fallen but for my arm.

"O Martin," says she, with rueful shake of the head, "I fear I cannot
walk."

"Lean on me--"

"'Tis vain," says she, catching her breath, "I cannot set this foot to
ground."

"Have you any bones broke?"

"Nay, 'tis none so bad as that--"

"Where's your hurt?"

"My knee--my ankle! And I'm direly bruised, Martin."

"But you cannot sleep out here!"

"I needs must. The sand is warm and soft to my bed."

"There is a better waiting you in the cave yonder."

"But--if I cannot walk, Martin--"

"Why then," says I, "why then you must suffer that I carry you."

"I fear I am--greatly heavy, Martin!"

"As to that--" says I, and lifting her as gently as I might, began to
bear her across the beach. And after we had gone thus some way she
spoke:

"I fear me I am vastly heavy!"

"No!" says I, keeping my gaze before me.

"Yet you go very slowly."

"'Tis that I would not jostle you."

"And the sand is ill-going, belike, Martin?"

"Most true!" says I, pretending to stumble.

"Why then, I pray you take your time." At this I ventured to glance
down at her, but saw no more than the curve of a cheek and the tip of a
little ear; and staring at this came very near blundering into a rock.
So I bore her into the rocky cleft already full of shadow, taking due
heed in my going yet mighty conscious of all the yielding softness of
her none the less.

"Your clothes are very damp!" says I.

"They will be dry ere morning," she answered, her voice muffled.

"I had best light a fire then!"

"There is no need, 'tis very warm, I do think."

"'Tis good against wild beasts and the like," says I.

"Why then, as you will, Martin."

Reaching the little cave at last she would have had me set her down;
but I bade her lie still, and getting to my knees within the cave I
laid her upon her ferny bed, whereat she uttered a little cry of
pleasure.

"Why, Martin