‘You have always been with me whilst I was unconscious and rambling,’ he said earnestly.
‘I have been a great deal with you, but not always. The maid, Jane, and an old woman who comes in occasionally to char, have shared with me the task. You have not been neglected.’
‘I know well when you have been by me—and when you have been away. Sometimes I have felt as if I lay on a bank with wild thyme under me——’
‘That is because we put thyme with our linen,’ said the practical Barbara.
He did not notice the explanation, but went on, ‘And the sun shone on my face, but a pleasant air fanned me. At other times all was dark and hot and miserable.’
‘That was according to the stages of your illness.’
‘No, I think I was content when you were in the room, and distressed when you were away. Some persons exert a mesmeric power of soothing.’
‘Sick men get strange fancies,’ said Barbara.
He rose on his elbow, and held out his hand.
‘I know that I owe my life to you, young lady. Allow me to thank you. My life is of no value to any but myself. I have not hitherto regarded it much. Now I shall esteem it, as saved by you. I thank you. May I touch your hand?’