And her eyes were the eyes of a maid, shy,
mischievous, demure, challenging.
"Sir," said she, shyly, demurely--but with eyes still challenging--
"sir, I have to thank you. I do thank you--more than these poor lips
can tell. If there is anything I could--do--to--to prove my gratitude,
you--have but to--name it."
"Do," stammered Barnabas. "Do--indeed--I--no."
The challenging eyes were hidden now, but the lips curved
wonderfully tempting and full of allurement. Barnabas clenched his
fists hard.
"I see, sir, your cheek has stopped bleeding, 't is almost well.
I think--there are others--whose hurts will not heal--quite so
soon--and, between you and me, sir, I'm glad--glad! Good-by! and may
you find as many friends in London as you deserve." So saying, she
turned and went on down the glade.
And in a little Barnabas sighed, and turning also, strode on
London-wards.
Now when she had gone but a very short way, my lady must needs
glance back over her shoulder, then, screened to be sure by a
convenient bramble-bush, she stood to watch him as he swung along,
strong, graceful, but with never a look behind.
"Who was he?" she wondered.
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