Now Lily listened eagerly enough, and sighed with fear when she learned how close I had been to death.
'But you are wounded, Thomas,' she broke in; 'see, the blood runs fast from your arm.

Is the thrust deep ?' 'I have not looked to see.

I have had no time to look.' 'Take off your coat, Thomas, that I may dress the wound.

Nay, I will have it so.' So I drew off the garment, not without pain, and rolled up the shirt beneath, and there was the hurt, a clean thrust through the fleshy part of the lower arm.

Lily washed it with water from the brook, and bound it with her kerchief, murmuring words of pity all the while.