"If I might make a suggestion, madam--"
But by this time Miss Limpenny had broken forth into a series of sobs
and plaintive cries for protection. Alas! the rest of the
picnic-party were deep within the woods, and out of hearing.
"Believe me, my dear madam--"
"I am not your dear madam."
"I have no other intention than to get out of this."
"Ah! he confesses it."
"I assure you--"
"Will no one protect me?" wailed the lady, wringing her hands and
sobbing anew. But help was near, though from an unexpected quarter.
[Illustration: "Will no one protect me?" wailed the lady . . .]
"Hulloa!" cried a voice on the bank above, "what be all this?"
And Peter Dearlove pushed aside the bushes and descended to the
shingle, closely followed by Paul. He was just in time, for Miss
Limpenny, with a thankful little cry, staggered and fell fainting
into his arms.
"Mercy 'pon us!" exclaimed Peter, seeing only the lady, and not at
first the cause of her distress, "'tes Miss Limpenny."
"Well, I'm jiggered!" ejaculated Paul, "so 'tes."
The Twins bent over the lady, and looked at each other in dismay.
To Mr. Fogo the tableau might have borne a ridiculous likeness to
that scene in _Cymbeline_ where Guiderius and Arviragus stoop over
the unconscious Imogen.
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