No woman's hand had touched
him thus since his mother's when he had been a little child. He was too
weak to question what was happening to him, but a soft light came into
his eyes, and he unconsciously pressed Marietta's hand.
She blushed at the pressure, without knowing why, and first the maiden
instinct was to draw away her hand, but then she pitied him and let it
stay. She thought, too, that her touch helped to keep him quiet, and
indeed it did.
"How did you know?" he asked at length, for in his half consciousness it
had seemed natural that she should have come to him when she heard that
he was hurt.
"Pasquale called Nella," she answered simply, "and I came too. Is the
pain still very great?"
"It is much less. How can I thank you?"
She looked into his eyes and smiled as he had seen her smile once or
twice before in his life. His memory all came back now. He knew that
she ought not to have been there, since her father was away. His
expression changed suddenly.
"What is the matter?" asked Marietta. "Does it hurt very much?"
"No," he said. "I was thinking--" He checked himself, and glanced at the
porter.
A distant knocking was heard at the outer door, Pasquale shuffled off to
see who was there.
"I will wager that it is the surgeon!" he grumbled.
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