Though an ugly gash upon her forehead had bathed her face in blood, and though he knew not but bones were broken, he recognized the fact that she was now returning, fast, to consciousness.
Already she had opened her eyes--wild eyes, understanding nothing--and was staring up at him in dazed, blank terror.

Then one hand came up to her face; and, even as he lifted her in both his powerful arms, she began to sob hysterically.
He knew the value of that weeping, and made no attempt to stop it.

The overwrought nerves, he understood, must find some outlet.

Asking no question, speaking no word--for Gabriel was a man of action, not speech--he gathered her up as though she had been a child.

A tall woman, she; almost as tall as he himself, and proportioned like a Venus.