“Oh yes, it’s nothing. Don’t laugh at me, please. I turned faint like a great silly girl. You touched the tenderest place, where my arm was hurt, and—”
“Denis, boy! May I come in?”
“Yes, yes,” said the lad faintly. “Come in. Carrbroke, this is Master Leoni, the gentleman who handles his sword so well.”
“I am glad to know you, sir,” said the youth, drawing himself up and welcoming with courtly grace the slight, keen-looking, elderly man whose strange, penetrating eyes seemed to be searching him through and through. “I am so sorry that I was asleep when you came last night. I was helping my father’s visitor just now, and I am afraid I have hurt him a great deal. His shoulder is hurt, and he tells me that it has not been treated by a leech.”
“Hurt?” cried Leoni, speaking quickly. “I did not know of this. Why did you not tell me last night?”
“Oh, I didn’t think,” said Denis. “I had enough to do to sit my horse and manage to get here; and,” added the lad lightly, “I thought that it would be better.”
“Ah,” said Master Leoni quietly, “let me see.” And he looked at the boy fixedly with that curious hard stare of the left eye which Denis never could explain.
“Oh no; I’m nearly dressed now, and breakfast is waiting.”
“How did this happen?” said Leoni, paying no heed to the lad’s words. “Sit still, boy, and tell me everything at once.”
Denis gave a hurried narrative of his encounter, and his listeners eagerly grasped every word.