“‘There’s magic in the web of it,” he said. “Fetch it and bind up my wound with that cobweb drawn over rosebuds and I shall be all right.”
She hastened to her room, and in a few moments had picked out from a drawer some soft linen, a bottle of arnica, and a pair of scissors. She had attended ambulance classes, and had confidence in her own capacity to deal with any ordinary “case.” Then she put the lace Medici handkerchief with the other appliances, and, carrying a large china bowl with her water jug, came quietly down the stairs once more.
He had fallen asleep on the settee, but in an instant he was awake. He was plainly vigilant at once.
“It is beginning to feel a bit stiff, but that is on account of the bleeding,” he said. “I knew I was doing wisely in awaking you only. I couldn’t stand a fuss.”
“I will make no fuss,” she said, “and I shall hurt you as little as possible. I will even refrain from asking you any questions.”
“That’s right; I feel so sleepy,” said he.
In a deft and businesslike way she washed the clotted blood from the wound, and she quickly perceived that it was only a deep flesh wound, but it had bled a great deal and that had weakened him. She bandaged the arm with layers of linen, and when the bandage was secure he cried—
“Now for the handkerchief—that will make me all right in a moment. The earlier Medici were, I told you, wonderful folk, though the later——Ah, you are a good girl.”
She knew that he must be humoured. She made no protest against using her handkerchief in such a way.
“You have no idea how relieved I feel,” said he. “My dearest girl, I knew that I would be safe in your hands. Now get me a big drink of water and I shall be all right.”