“I cannot refuse you anything, dearest Pauline, but what then?”

“Then you shall find me grateful to you, you will have a good appetite, and will sleep well.”

“A horse, a horse!  Quick!  My boots!” I kissed her hand—­for I had not got any farther than that—­and began to ride towards Kingston.  I did not care for the motion of trotting, so I put my horse at a gallop, when all of a sudden he stumbled, and in an instant I was lying on the ground in front of the Duke of Kingston’s house.  Miss Chudleigh happened to be at the window, and seeing me thrown to the ground uttered a shriek.  I raised my head and she recognized me, and hastened to send some of her people to help me.  As soon as I was on my feet I wanted to go and thank her, but I could not stir, and a valet who knew something of surgery examined me, and declared that I had put out my collar-bone and would require a week’s rest.

The young lady told me that if I liked to stay in her house the greatest care should be taken of me.  I thanked her warmly, but begged her to have me taken home, as I should not like to give her so much trouble.  She immediately gave the necessary orders, and I was driven home in a comfortable carriage.  The servants in charge would not accept any money, and I saw in the incident a proof of that hospitality for which the English are famed, although they are at the same time profoundly egotistic.

When I got home I went to bed, and sent for a surgeon, who laughed when I told him that I had put out a bone.

“I’ll wager it is nothing more than a sprain.  I only wish it was put out that I might have some chance of shewing my skill.”

“I am delighted,” I said, “not to be in a position to call for that amount of talent, but I shall have a high opinion of you if you set me up in a short time.”

I did not see Pauline, much to my astonishment.  I was told she had gone out in a sedan-chair, and I almost felt jealous.  In two hours she came in looking quite frightened, the old house-keeper having told her that I had broken my leg, and that the doctor had been with me already.

“Unhappy wretch that I am!” she exclaimed as she came to my bedside, “’tis I that have brought you to this.”

With these words she turned pale and almost fell in a swoon beside me.

“Divine being!” I cried, as I pressed her to my breast, “it is nothing; only a sprain.”

“What pain that foolish old woman has given me!

“God be praised that it is no worse!  Feel my heart.”

“Oh, yes!  I felt it with delight.  It was a happy fall for me.”

Fastening my lips on hers, I felt with delight that our transports were mutual, and I blessed the sprain that had brought me such bliss.

After these ecstasies I felt that Pauline was laughing.

“What are you laughing at, sweetheart?”

“At the craft of love, which always triumphs at last.”