"Happen, madam?—why, I fancy I must have—scratched myself," returned Barnabas, beginning to wring out his neckerchief.
"Scratched yourself. Ah! of course!" said she, and was silent while
Barnabas continued to wring the water from his neckerchief.
"Pray," she inquired suddenly, "do you often scratch yourself—until you bleed?—'t is surely a most distressing habit." Now glancing up suddenly, Barnabas saw her eyes were wonderfully bright for all her solemn mouth, and suspicion grew upon him.—"Did she know? Had she seen?" he wondered.
"Nevertheless, sir—my thanks are due to you—"
"For what?" he inquired quickly.
"Why—for—for—"
"For bringing you here?" he suggested, beginning to wring out his neckerchief again.
"Yes; believe me I am more than grateful for—for—"
"For what, madam?" he inquired again, looking at her now.
"For—your—kindness, sir."