'
So we turned and walked side by side towards the great pollard oaks,
and by the time that we reached them, I had told her the tale of the
Spaniard, and how he strove to kill me, and how I had beaten him with my
staff. Now Lily listened eagerly enough, and sighed with fear when she
learned how close I had been to death.
'But you are wounded, Thomas,' she broke in; 'see, the blood runs fast
from your arm. Is the thrust deep?'
'I have not looked to see. I have had no time to look.'
'Take off your coat, Thomas, that I may dress the wound. Nay, I will
have it so.'
So I drew off the garment, not without pain, and rolled up the shirt
beneath, and there was the hurt, a clean thrust through the fleshy part
of the lower arm. Lily washed it with water from the brook, and bound it
with her kerchief, murmuring words of pity all the while. To say truth,
I would have suffered a worse harm gladly, if only I could find her to
tend it. Indeed, her gentle care broke down the fence of my doubts and
gave me a courage that otherwise might have failed me in her presence.
At first, indeed, I could find no words, but as she bound my wound,
I bent down and kissed her ministering hand. She flushed red as the
evening sky, the flood of crimson losing itself at last beneath her
auburn hair, but it burned deepest upon the white hand which I had
kissed.
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