“Had you failed to rouse me, what would you have done?” she asked suddenly without moving.
“I would have buried it.”
“It! What?—You would have buried THIS?” she exclaimed, flashing round upon me in a white fury, her arms thrown out, and her eyes darting forks of cold lightning.
“Nay; that I saw not! That, weary weeks of watching and tending have brought back to you,” I answered—for with such a woman I must be plain! “Had I seen the smallest sign of decay, I would at once have buried you.”
“Dog of a fool!” she cried, “I was but in a trance—Samoil! what a fate!—Go and fetch the she-savage from whom you borrowed this hideous disguise.”
“I made it for you. It is hideous, but I did my best.”
She drew herself up to her tall height.
“How long have I been insensible?” she demanded. “A woman could not have made that dress in a day!”
“Not in twenty days,” I rejoined, “hardly in thirty!”
“Ha! How long do you pretend I have lain unconscious?—Answer me at once.”