Part 6 (1/2)
”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 acquaintances.h.i.+p 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.”
”I don't see any especial reason why you should wear it after dark, do you? There is no sunlight, I'm sure.”
”I am dazzled, nevertheless,” he retorted.
”Fiddlesticks!” she said. ”This is a cave, not a drawing-room.”
”In other words, I am a lout and not a courtier,” he smiled. ”Well, a lout may look at a princess. We have no court etiquette in the hills, I am sorry to say.”
”That was very unkind, even though you said it most becomingly,” she protested. ”You have called this pail a throne. Let us also imagine that you are a courtier.”
”You punish me most gently, your highness. I shall not forget my manners again, believe me.” He seemed thoroughly subdued.
”Then I shall expect you to remove that horrid black thing. It is positively villainous. You look much better without it.”
”Is it an edict or a compliment?” he asked with such deep gravity that she flushed.
”It is neither,” she answered. ”You don't have to take it off unless you want to--”
”In either event, it is off. You were right. It serves as a partial disguise. I have many enemies and the black patch is a very good friend.”
”How perfectly lovely,” cried Beverly. ”Tell me all about it. I adore stories about feuds and all that.”
”Your husband is an American. He should be able to keep you well entertained with blood-and-thunder stories,” said he.
”My hus--What do you--Oh, yes!” gasped Beverly. ”To be sure. I didn't hear you, I guess. That was rather a severe clap of thunder, wasn't it?”
”Is that also a command?”