The young man's face suddenly became somewhat less expressive than the skull which he had kept as a souvenir of the experience they were discussing. That at least expressed a cheery unconcern; his face expressed nothing.
"Oh, I-I-I'm sorry," he remarked blankly.
"So am I. I didn't mean to."
"Have you known it, all the time? Was that what made you so down on me?"
"I wasn't down on you. I didn't think much about you, either way," Phebe said, with unflattering directness.
"But did you know it?"
"Not till last night, when you told the story. Your beard changes you a good deal." She paused. Then she went on, "I didn't mean to let you know it; but I think it is better that I have, for now I can set you right on one point. I didn't go off to leave you. I did what I could, and then went for help. When I came back, you were gone."
"How came you there, anyway?"
"I live there."
"Oh! And the skull?"