But you are bruised, sir, black with bruises; and there are more scratches of thorns on your skin than letters on a written page." "A long thorn might have entered my brain," I said, "from the way it pains.

Feel my forehead, Rima; is it very hot and dry ?" She did as I asked, touching me lightly with her little cool hand.

"No, senor, not hot, but warm and moist," she said.
"Thank Heaven for that!" I said.

"Poor girl! And you followed me through the wood in all that terrible storm! Ah, if I could lift my bruised arm I would take your hand to kiss it in gratitude for so great a service.

I owe you my life, sweet Rima--what shall I do to repay so great a debt ?" The old man chuckled as if amused, but the girl lifted not her eyes nor spoke.
"Tell me, sweet child," I said, "for I cannot realize it yet; was it really you that saved the serpent's life when I would have killed it--did you stand by me in the wood with the serpent lying at your feet ?" "Yes, senor," came her gentle answer.
"And it was you I saw in the wood one day, lying on the ground playing with a small bird ?" "Yes, senor." "And it was you that followed me so often among the trees, calling to me, yet always hiding so that I could never see you ?" "Yes, senor." "Oh, this is wonderful!" I exclaimed; whereat the old man chuckled again.
"But tell me this, my sweet girl," I continued.