“Is anything up?” said the young lady.

“I have lost my balance,” thickly answered Mr. Lavender, whose blood was running to his head, which was now lower than his feet.  “Fortunately, my dog seems to be holding me from behind.  But if someone could assist her it would be an advantage, for I fear that I am slipping.”

“Hold on!” cried the young lady.  And breaking through the low privet hedge which separated the domains, she vanished beneath him with a low gurgling sound.

Mr. Lavender, who dared not speak again for fear that Blink, hearing his voice, might let go to answer, remained suspended, torn with anxiety about his costume.  “If she comes in,” he thought, “I shall die from shame.  And if she doesn’t, I shall die from a broken neck.  What a dreadful alternative!” And he firmly grasped the most substantial lilac-boughs within, his reach, listening with the ears of a hare for any sound within the room, in which he no longer was to any appreciable extent.  Then the thought of what a public man should feel in his position came to his rescue.  “We die but once,” he mused; “rather than shock that charming lady let me seek oblivion.”  And the words of his obituary notice at once began to dance before his eyes.  “This great public servant honoured his country no less in his death than in his life.”  Then striking out vigorously with his feet he launched his body forward.  The words “My goodness!” resounded above him, as all restraining influence was suddenly relaxed; Mr. Lavender slid into the lilac-bush, turned heels over head, and fell bump on the ground.  He lay there at full, length, conscious of everything, and especially of the faces of Blink and the young lady looking down on him from the window.

“Are you hurt?” she called.

“No,” said Mr. Lavender, “that is—­er—­yes,” he added, ever scrupulously exact.

“I’m coming down,” said the young lady.

“Don’t move!”

With a great effort Mr. Lavender arranged his costume, and closed his eyes.  “How many lie like this, staring at the blue heavens!” he thought.

“Where has it got you?” said a voice; and he saw the young lady bending over him.

“’In the dorsal region, I think,” said Mr. Lavender.  “But I suffer more from the thought that I—­that you—­”

“That’s all right,” said the young lady; “I’m a V.A.D.  It was a bump!  Let’s see if you can——­” and taking his hands she raised him to a sitting posture.  “Does it work?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Lavender rather faintly.

“Try and stand,” said the young lady, pulling.

Mr. Lavender tried, and stood; but no, sooner was he on his feet than she turned her face away.  Great tears rolled down her cheeks; and she writhed and shook all over.

“Don’t!” cried Mr. Lavender, much concerned.  “I beg you not to cry.  It’s nothing, I assure you—­nothing!” The young lady with an effort controlled her emotion, and turned her large grey eyes on him.