"What are you going to do?" she demanded, drawing away from the streaming neckerchief. "Who are you? Why am I here?—what has happened?"
Barnabas hesitated, first because he was overwhelmed by this sudden torrent of questions, and secondly because he rarely spoke without thinking; therefore, finding him silent, she questioned him again—
"Where am I?"
"In Annersley Wood, madam."
"Ah, yes, I remember, my horse ran away."
"So I brought you here to the brook."
"Why?"
"You were hurt; I found you bleeding and senseless."
"Bleeding!" And out came a dainty lace handkerchief on the instant.
"There," said Barnabas, "above your eyebrow," and he indicated a very small trickle of blood upon the snow of her temple.