The bright moon and the pain of his hand awoke him out of a half sleep. He sprang up to calm the throbbing beat of the blood in cold water, when he heard a rustling at his door. "Who is there?" he said, and opened it. Lauretta stood before him.
Without saying much she entered. She threw aside the handkerchief she had worn over her head, and placed a basket on the table. Then she drew a deep sigh.
"You are come for your handkerchief," he said; "you might have spared yourself the trouble, for tomorrow morning I should have asked Giuseppe to take it to you."
"It is not for the handkerchief," she answered, hastily; "I have been on the mountain gathering herbs that are good for wounds--there!" and she raised the cover of her basket.
"Too much trouble," he said, without any harshness--"too much trouble. It is better already--much better; and even if it were worse, I have deserved it. What do you do here so late? If any one were to see you--you know how they talk, though they know not what they say?"
"I do not trouble myself about them," she answered vehemently; "but your hand I must see, and put herbs upon it, for you can never do it with your left."
"I assure you that there is no necessity for such trouble!"
"Then let me see it, that I may believe it."
She seized his hand before he could prevent her, and untied the bandage. When she saw the angry swelling, she shrank together, and screamed "Jesus, Maria!"
"It is a little swollen," he said; "a day and a night will put it all right again."