She laughed and said “No,” and sat up stiffly, full of secret dolours.  Yet he knew and she knew that the accidents of the previous two nights had covered her limbs with blue discolorations, and that the latest fall was more severe than any previous one.  Her courage enchanted Louis and filled him with a sense of security.  She was not graceful in these exercises.  Her ankles were thick and clumsy.  Not merely had she no natural aptitude for physical feats—­apparently she was not lissom, nor elegant in motion.  But what courage!  What calm, bright endurance!  What stoicism!  Most girls would have reproached him for betraying them to destruction, would have pouted, complained, demanded petting and apologies.  But not she!  She was like a man.  And when he helped her to pick herself up he noticed that after all she was both lissom and agile, and exquisitely, disturbingly girlish in her short dusty skirt; and that she did trust him and depend on him.  And he realized that he was safe for life with her.  She was created for him.

Work was resumed.

“Now don’t let go of me till I tell you,” she enjoined lightly.

“I won’t,” he answered.  And it seemed to him that his loyalty to her expanded and filled all his soul.

Later, as she approached the other end of Park Road, near Moorthorne Road, a tram-car hurled itself suddenly down Moorthorne Road and overthrew her.  It is true that the tram-car was never less than twenty yards away from her.  But even at twenty yards it could overthrow.  Rachel sat dazed in the road, and her voice was uncertain as she told Louis to examine the bicycle.  One of the pedals was bent, and prevented the back wheel from making a complete revolution.

“It’s nothing,” said Louis.  “I’ll have it right in the morning.”

“Who’s that?” Rachel, who had risen, gasping, turned to him excitedly as he was bending over the bicycle.  Conscious that somebody had been standing at the corner of the street, he glanced up.  A figure was moving quickly down Moorthorne Road in the direction of the station.

“I dun’no,” said he.

“It’s not Julian, is it?”

In a peculiar tone Louis replied—­

“Looks like him, doesn’t it?” And then impulsively he yelled “Hi!”

The figure kept on its way.

“Seeing that the inimitable Julian’s still in South Africa, it can’t very well be him.  And, anyhow, I’m not going to run after him.”

“No, of course it can’t,” Rachel assented.

Presently the returning procession was re-formed.  Louis pushed the bicycle on its front wheel, and Rachel tried to help him to support the weight of the suspended part.  He had attempted in vain to take the pedal off the crank.

“It’s perhaps a good thing you fell just then,” said Louis.  “Because old Batch is coming in to-night, and we’d better not be late.”

“But you never told me!”

“Didn’t I?  I forgot,” he said blandly.