‘See them,’ said Gilby; ‘they look like streaks of yellow light!’

‘I see,’ said Zilda, and she did see for the first time.

Now Gilby had a certain capacity for rejoicing in the beauties of nature; it was overlaid with huge conceit in his own taste and discernment and a love of forcing his observations on other people, but the flaws in his character Zilda was not in a position to see.  The good in him awakened in her a higher virtue than she would otherwise have known; she was unconscious of the rest, just as eyes which can see form and not colour are unconscious of the bad blending of artificial hues.

Presently Zilda rose up.  ‘I will make monsieur more comfortable,’ she said, and she lifted him to a drier place upon the bank.

This was mortifying to little Gilby; his manner was quite huffy for some minutes after.

Zilda had her own ideas of what she would do.  She presently left him alone and walked on swiftly to the place of the breakdown.  There she borrowed a hand-car; it was a light one that could be worked easily by two men, and Zilda determined to work it alone.  While she was coming back along the iron road on the top of the narrow embankment, Gilby could see her from where he sat—­a stalwart young woman in homespun gown, stooping and rising with regular toilsome movement as she worked the rattling machine that came swiftly nearer.

When the carriage thus provided for him was close at hand, the almost breathless Zilda actually proposed to exert her strength to carry Gilby up to it.  He insisted upon hopping on one foot supported by her arm; he did not feel the slightest inclination to lean upon her more than was needful, he was too self-conscious and proud.  Even after she had placed him on the car, he kept up an air of offence for a long time just because she had proved her strength to be so much greater than his own.  His little rudenesses of this sort did not disturb Zilda’s tranquillity in the least.

Gilby sat on the low platform of the hand-car.  He looked like a bantam cock whose feathers were much ruffled.  Zilda worked at the handles of the machine; she was very large and strong, all her attitudes were statuesque.  The May day beamed on the flat spring landscape through which they were travelling; the beam found a perfect counterpart in the joy of Zilda’s heart.

So she brought Gilby safely to the hotel and installed him in the best room there.  The sprain was a very bad one.  Gilby was obliged to lie there for a month.  Sometimes his friends came out from the town to see him, but not very often, and they did not stay long.  Zilda cooked for him, Zilda waited upon him, Zilda conversed with him in the afternoons when he needed amusement.  This month was the period of her happiness.

When he was going home, Gilby felt really very grateful to the girl.  He had not the slightest thought of making love to her; he felt too strongly on the subject of his dignity and his principles for that; but although he haggled with Chaplot over the bill, he talked in a bombastic manner about making Zilda a present.