"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."




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