“I was in the caves behind the cottage. I ran in to get out of the storm, and because I didn’t want to go looking for you. I thought you were drowned, and I didn’t want to see your white face,” he shivered. “And I was peeping about in one of the caves when I fell; I don’t know how or where. I fell down, down, ever so far. I thought I was never going to stop, and then my breath went away, and I didn’t know anything till I found myself in another cave, all knocked about and bruised. I’m aching now all over, but I don’t mind that. And then, Mavis, she came and looked at me.”
“You saw her?” said Mavis.
“Yes—oh Mavis, she made my eyes go up to hers. And oh, the pain! She didn’t say anything except just ‘Bertrand.’ But I knew all she meant, better than by any speaking. And she was kind; she lifted me and carried me up here. And she put something on my leg; that was where I was most hurt, I think. Then she sat by me here, and she put it all into my mind, all the naughty things I’d ever done. Mavis, I didn’t know, I really didn’t, how bad I was. It came out of her eyes somehow, though I dared not look again; and when she went away, even though I think she kissed me, the pain got worse and worse. Oh Mavis, will it ever go? Will my eyes ever feel the same again?”
“No,” said Mavis, “I don’t think they’ll ever feel the same, for they’ll feel much, much better than they used to. The pain will go, though it may come back sometimes, to remind you.”
“I shan’t need reminding,” said the boy. “I can’t ever forget. I’m sure of that. I wish I could!”
“No, Bertrand, I don’t think you do wish that.”
He gave an impatient wriggle, but without speaking.
“Oh the pain,” he cried again in a moment or two, “and it did seem a little better.”
Miss Hortensia came forward.
“Mavis, my dear, what is it? Where is he hurt? And why did you hide yourself up here, Bertrand, instead of coming to me?”