her chin for she felt a dull pain and a queer numbness in her side. However, when she tried to disentangle herself and jump up quickly the pain became more acute. Nevertheless, for one instant Frieda struggled and then lay still, for her pursuer had already reached her and was bending over her, for what purpose Frieda did not know. Then she heard a slow, inexpressibly familiar voice say: "I am afraid I have frightened you, my dear. I do trust you have not injured yourself." Then a pair of strong, gentle hands attempted to lift her. Naturally, Frieda's first sensation was one of amazement; the second, relief; and the third, anger. She managed, however, with assistance to sit in an upright position. Then she began brushing off the twigs and dirt which she felt had been ground into her face. Finally she[76] recovered sufficient breath and self control to be able to speak. [76] "Henry Russell!" she exclaimed, trying to reveal both dignity and disdain, in spite of her ridiculous position, "will you please tell me why you are hiding in Frank's woods like a thief, and why, when I refused to see you, you terrified the life out of me by chasing me until I nearly killed myself. I think, at least, I have broken my leg," she ended petulantly. Professor Henry Tilford Russell flushed all over his fair, scholarly face. Taking off his soft grey hat, he ran his hand over the top of his head, where the hair was already beginning to grow thin. "My dear Frieda, you do me an injustice," he began, "although I know my actions do appear as you have just stated them. The truth is I found myself unable to go away at once from Kent House. I am not fond of London. I dreaded the loneliness there; also I longed for a sight of you to know for myself that you were well. So I wandered about through the grounds at some distance from the house and finally entered these woods. When you came into them alone and so unexpectedly, it seemed as if I must speak to[77] you. I started toward you and you ran. I did not think my pursuit would alarm you. It was one of the many things, Frieda, I should have understood and did not." [77] In spite of the fact that the fault of the present situation was undoubtedly Professor Russell's, there was an unconscious dignity and graciousness about him as he made his apology, which Frieda
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