“But after all,” said the wounded man, “why didn’t she answer me? If she had sent me a single line, I should have been happy.”
By dint of pulling at Miss Nevil’s hand, Colomba contrived at last to put it into her brother’s. Then, moving suddenly aside, she burst out laughing.
“Orso,” she cried, “mind you don’t speak evil of Miss Lydia—she understands Corsican quite well.”
Miss Lydia took back her hand at once and stammered some unintelligible words. Orso thought he must be dreaming.
“You here, Miss Nevil? Good heavens! how did you dare? Oh, how happy you have made me!”
And raising himself painfully, he strove to get closer to her.
“I came with your sister,” said Miss Lydia, “so that nobody might suspect where she was going. And then I—I wanted to make sure for myself. Alas! how uncomfortable you are here!”
Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She raised him carefully so that his head might rest on her lap. She put her arms round his neck and signed to Miss Lydia to come near him.
“Closer! closer!” she said. “A sick man mustn’t talk too loud.” And when Miss Lydia hesitated, she caught her hand and forced her to sit down so close to Orso that her dress touched him, and her hand, still in Colomba’s grasp, lay on the wounded man’s shoulder.
“Now he’s very comfortable!” said Colomba cheerily. “Isn’t it good to lie out in the maquis on such a lovely night? Eh, Orso?”