"Oh, God!" she cried, and fainted.
Never in all her life before to-day had Elsie fainted. Trant told her that she had been unconscious for a long time. When she came to herself he was chafing her hands with the tenderness of a woman. She asked him to leave her alone, and he went away. For a long time she lay on the grass and thought. She lay there till the sun had sunk behind the rampart of the old crater.
By and by Trant came to her, and in a humble subdued manner asked her if she would like to see the place he had arranged for her to sleep in. Always to Trant's credit it was to be remembered that he acted towards her with a certain chivalric consideration. She did not feel afraid of him now. Her very soul seemed numbed. He asked her if she would take his arm as ceremoniously as if they had been in a ballroom, and she accepted it again with that tendency to hysterical laughter.
He took her into one of the smallest caves, and she was almost touched to see how carefully he had arranged it. He had put some hay on a bunk to serve as a mattress, and had spread the blankets smoothly upon it. He had spread another blanket on the floor, so that her feet should not touch the bare earth of the cave, and he had scoured the tin basin and filled a dipper with water, and laid some soap and even a raw edged cloth—torn from something—for a towel. He had dragged in some stones and a slab, and had extemporized a dressing table, on which he had put a tiny hand glass and a comb, and—loverlike touch!—in a small pint pot were a few sprays of rock lily. He must have gone put and gathered them.
"I'm afraid it is very rough," he said, "but it's the best I can do. Nothing will hurt you. You'll be as safe here as if you were in Lady Horace's room at the Dell. I shall be a good way off, but you can call me if anything frightens you. I'm going to camp outside. And now I shall get you some supper."
He went out. Presently, however, he came back, and called her, "Elsie!"
