"You poor man! And I sleeping while I ought to be taking care of you! I'll make the fire and get some milk; there is still a little left."
As she tried to make her aching bones lift her to her feet, she became aware that the man was fumbling at his coverings and trying to say something.
She bent down to hear his words, which were incredibly faint.
"I don't want any fire or any milk. I only wanted to know if you were there," he said diffidently, as if ashamed of his childishness.
She leaned over him, speaking gently and touching his head softly with her firm, cool hands.
"You're a little better now, aren't you, after your sleep? Don't you feel a little stronger?"
"Yes, I'm better, lots better," he whispered. "I must have been sleeping for ages. When I woke up I thought I had a beastly chill or something; but I'm all right now; only suddenly I felt as if I must know if you were there, and if it was you."
He smiled at his own words, and Agatha was reassured.
"I think you'll be still better for a little milk," she said, and crept away to get the pail, which had been hidden on a shelf of rock. When she came back with it, James tried manfully to sit up; but Agatha slipped an arm under his neck, in skilful nurse fashion, and held the bucket while he drank, almost greedily. As he sank back on his bed he whispered: "You are very good to take care of me."
"Oh, no; I'm only too glad! And now I'm going to build up the fire again; your hands are quite cold."