"I am still very weak. I tremble to think what would have become of me had I lain down in that wood. The fever would certainly have carried me off. I owe my life to you."
"No—to Jacintha."
"And to Jacintha, who will not take any reward from me."
After this there was a silence. Paul found his usual flow of language gone. He longed to be brilliant; he was conscious of seeming stupid.
"It is six weeks since our meeting in the woods," he observed, for want of a better remark.
"And you were going to Sebenico, then. Have you remained at Castel Nuovo all this time on my account?"
"I desire to keep my promise of seeing you safely to Zara."
Barbara murmured her gratitude, adding,—
"But am I not putting you to great inconvenience?"
"No, signorina, no. These are my holidays. I am on a long furlough. My time is my own, or rather it is at your disposal."