"I crave pardon, your highness," he said, humbly "The heart of the goat-hunter is more gentle than his wit. I shall not again forget that you are a princess and I the veriest beggar."
"I didn't mean to hurt you!" she cried, in contrition, for she was a very poor example of what a princess is supposed to be.
"There is no wound, your highness," he quickly said. With a mocking grace that almost angered her, he dropped to his knee and motioned for her to be seated. She sat down suddenly, clapping her hands to her ears and shutting her eyes tightly. The crash of thunder that came at that instant was the most fearful of all, and it was a full minute before she dared to lift her lids again. He was standing before her, and there was genuine compassion in his face. "It's terrible," he said. "Never before have I seen such a storm. Have courage, your highness; it can last but little longer."
"Goodness!" said the real American girl, for want of something more expressive.
"Your servant has crept into your couch, I fear. Shall I sit here at your feet? Perhaps you may feel a small sense of security if I—"
"Indeed, I want you to sit there," she cried. He forthwith threw himself upon the floor of the cave, a graceful, respectful guardian. Minutes went by without a word from either. The noise of the storm made it impossible to speak and be heard. Scattered about the cavern were his outstretched followers, doubtless asleep once more in all this turmoil. With the first lull in the war of the elements, Beverly gave utterance to the thought that long had been struggling for release.
"Why do you wear that horrid black patch over your eye?" she asked, a trifle timidly. He muttered a sharp exclamation and clapped his hand to his eye. For the first time since the beginning of their strange acquaintanceship Beverly observed downright confusion in this debonair knight of the wilds.
"It has—has slipped off—" he stammered, with a guilty grin. His merry insolence was gone, his composure with it. Beverly laughed with keen enjoyment over the discomfiture of the shame-faced vagabond.
"You can't fool me," she exclaimed, shaking her finger at him in the most unconventional way. "It was intended to be a disguise. There is absolutely nothing the matter with your eye."
He was speechless for a moment, recovering himself. Wisdom is conceived in silence, and he knew this. Vagabond or gentleman, he was a clever actor.