"But they didn't leave you?" And Rose's face was all alive with interest now.
"Guess they didn't," answered the man, giving a stroke or two, and looking as if he found it pleasant to tell his story to so winsome a listener. "Just as they were at their wit's end what to do with me, we come upon a young surgeon, lurking there to watch the fight or to hide,—don't know which. There he was any way, looking scared half to death. Tom Hunt, my mate, made him stop and look at me. My leg was smashed, and ought to come off right away, he said. 'Do it, then!' says Tom. He was one of your rough-and-readys, Tom was; but at heart as kind as a—well, as a woman."
And the boatman gave a smile and a nod at the one opposite him.
"Thanks; but do tell on. It is so interesting."
And Rose let all her flowers stray down into the bottom of the boat, as she clasped her hands and leaned forward to listen.
"Don't know as I'd better tell this part. It ain't pleasant," began the man.
"You must. I want it all. Dreadful things do me good, and other people's sufferings teach me how to bear my own," said Rose, in her imperious way.
"You don't look as if you ought to have any."
And the man's eyes rested on the delicate face opposite, full of a pleasant blending of admiration, pity, and protection.
"I have; but not like yours. Go on, please."