"And you—found me, sir?"
"Beneath the riven oak in the Broad Glade—over yonder."
"That is a great way from here, sir!"
"You are not—heavy!" Barnabas explained, a little clumsily perhaps, for she fell silent at this, and stooped her head the better to dab tenderly at the cut above her eyebrow; also the color deepened in her cheeks.
"Madam," said Barnabas, "that is the wrong eyebrow."
"Then why don't you tell me where I'm hurt?" she sighed. For answer, after a moment's hesitation, Barnabas reached out and taking her hand, handkerchief and all, laid it very gently upon the cut, though to be sure it was a very poor thing, as cuts go, after all.
"There," said he again, "though indeed it is very trifling."
"Indeed, sir, it pains atrociously!" she retorted, and to bear out her words showed him her handkerchief, upon whose snow was a tiny vivid stain.
"Then perhaps," ventured Barnabas, "perhaps I'd better bathe it with this!" and he held up his dripping handkerchief.
"Nay, sir, I thank you," she answered, "keep it for your own wounds—there is a cut upon your cheek."