d stir not till I bring
water to bathe it." And away she hastes and I, burning in a fever of
doubt and questioning, must needs lie there and watch her bring the
turtle-shell to fill it at the little rill that bubbled in that rocky
cleft as I have described before. While this was a-doing I stared up
at the pimento tree, and bethinking me of Black Bartlemy and the poor
Spanish lady and of my hateful dream, I felt sudden great shame, for
here had I crushed my lady in arms as cruel well-nigh as his. This put
me to such remorse that I might not lie still and strove to rise up,
yet got no further than my knees; and 'twas thus she found me. And now
when I would have sued her forgiveness for my roughness she soothed me
with gentle words (though what she spake I knew not) and gave me to
drink, and so fell to cherishing my hurt until, my strength coming back
somewhat, I got to my feet and suffered her to bring me where she
would, speaking no word, since in my fevered brain I was asking myself
this question, viz.,

"Why must she weep?"

Now whether the Indian's knife was poisoned or no I cannot say, but for
two days I lay direly sick and scarce able to crawl, conscious only of
the soothing tones of her voice and touch of her hands. But upon the
third day, opening my eyes I found myself greatly better though
marvellous weak. And as I stirred she was beside me on her knees.

"Drink this, Martin!" says she. And I obeying, found it was excellent
broth. And when I had drunk all I closed my eyes mighty content, and
so lay a while.

"My Lady Joan," says I at last, "wherefore did you weep?"

"O Martin!" she sighed, "'Twas because that morning I had sought so
long and found so little to give you and you so sick!" Here was
silence a while.

"But whence cometh the broth?" quoth I at last.

"I caught a young goat, Martin; in a noose of hide set among the rocks;
and then--then I had to kill it--O Martin!"

"You--caught and--killed a goat!"

"Yes, Martin. You had to be fed--but O, the poor thing--!"

"Surely," said I at last, "O surely never had man so brave a comrade as
I! How may I ever show you all my gratitude?"

"By going to sleep, Martin. Your wound is well-nigh healed, sleep is
all you need." And sleep I did; though at that time and for many
nights to come my slumber was haunted by a fear that the Indian was
back again, and others with him, all stealing upon us to our torment
and destruction. But in this night