"Nothing—only let me be quiet for a few moments, and I shall be well. These flowers are oppressive—help me away."
He supported her to a seat at a little distance, and resumed his position by her side. Barbara sat leaning her forehead upon her hand, lost in thought, and shivering slightly, as if with cold.
"The night air is chill," said Norman; "I will get your cloak."
He took up the rich mantle and folded it about her; she offered no resistance, looking down at him as he bent forward, and smiling with her patient, resigned smile, in sign of thankfulness for his care.
"Are you better now?" he asked, inexpressibly moved by the beautiful resignation of her look.
"Much better. You are very kind to me—very, I have always something new to thank you for."
"I wish it were indeed in my power to render you any service."
"Ah, you are young, and it is great happiness for the young to feel that they can be of service to those around them! But I have no claim upon your kindness. I am a stranger to you and all about you."
"A stranger—oh, lady, how can you say this? I could never feel that you were indeed a stranger—there are persons with whom one, at the first sight, seems to have been acquainted for years—for a whole life-time."
"Have you felt that, too?" said Barbara, mournfully. "Poor boy! that feeling comes with a rare and peculiar organization, which causes the possessor much suffering."