"There is no wound, your highness," he quickly said. With a mocking
grace that almost angered her, he dropped to his knee and motioned for
her to be seated. She sat down suddenly, clapping her hands to her ears
and shutting her eyes tightly. The crash of thunder that came at that
instant was the most fearful of all, and it was a full minute before she
dared to lift her lids again. He was standing before her, and there was
genuine compassion in his face. "It's terrible," he said. "Never before
have I seen such a storm. Have courage, your highness; it can last but
little longer."
"Goodness!" said the real American girl, for want of something more
expressive.
"Your servant has crept into your couch, I fear. Shall I sit here at
your feet? Perhaps you may feel a small sense of security if I--"
"Indeed, I want you to sit there," she cried. He forthwith threw himself
upon the floor of the cave, a graceful, respectful guardian. Minutes
went by without a word from either. The noise of the storm made it
impossible to speak and be heard. Scattered about the cavern were his
outstretched followers, doubtless asleep once more in all this
turmoil. With the first lull in the war of the elements, Beverly gave
utterance to the thought that long had been struggling for release.
"Why do you wear that horrid black patch over your eye?" she asked, a
trifle timidly. He muttered a sharp exclamation and clapped his hand to
his eye. For the first time since the beginning of their strange
acquaintanceship Beverly observed downright confusion in this debonair
knight of the wilds.
"It has--has slipped off--" he stammered, with a guilty grin. His merry
insolence was gone, his composure with it. Beverly laughed with keen
enjoyment over the discomfiture of the shame-faced vagabond.
"You can't fool me," she exclaimed, shaking her finger at him in the
most unconventional way. "It was intended to be a disguise. There is
absolutely nothing the matter with your eye."
He was speechless for a moment, recovering himself. Wisdom is conceived
in silence, and he knew this. Vagabond or gentleman, he was a clever
actor.
"The eye is weak, your highness, and I cover it in the daytime to
protect it from the sunlight," he said, coolly.
"That's all very nice, but it looks to be quite as good as the
other. And what is more, sir, you are not putting the patch over the
same eye that wore it when I first saw you. It was the left eye at
sunset. Does the trouble transfer after dark?"
He broke into an honest laugh and hastily moved the black patch across
his nose to the left eye.
"I was turned around in the darkness, that's all," he said, serenely."
It belongs over the left eye, and I am deeply grateful to you for
discovering the error."