Black Bartlemys Treasure

"Martin," says she, looking up at me great-eyed, "O Martin, you are wounded! Come let me cherish your hurts!"

"Why, Damaris," says I, yet panting with my running, "You said this to me when I fought the big village boy years agone."

"Come, Martin, you are bleeding--"

"Nought to matter ... and I let him go ... to bring others like enough ... to-morrow I will make my bow ... nay ... I can walk." But now indeed sea and rocks grew all blurred and misty on my sight, and twice I must needs rest awhile ere we came on Deliverance Sands. And so homewards, a weary journey whereof I remember nothing save that I fell a-grieving that I had suffered this Indian to escape.

So came we to the plateau at last, her arm about me and mine upon her shoulders; and, angered at my weakness, I strove to go alone yet reeled in my gait like a drunken man, and so suffered her to get me into our cave as she would. Being upon my bed she brings the lamp, and kneeling by me would examine my hurt whether I would or no, and I being weak, off came my shirt. And then I heard her give a little, gasping cry.

"Is it so bad?" says I, finding my tongue more unready than usual.

"Nay, 'tis not--not your--wound, Martin.

"Then what?"

"Your poor back--all these cruel scars! O Martin!"

"Nought but the lash! They whipped us well aboard the 'Esmeralda' galleass." In a while I was aware of her soft, gentle hands as she bathed me with water cool from the spring; thereafter she made a compress of moss and leaves, and laying it to my wound bound it there as well as she might, the which I found very grateful and comforting. This done she sits close beside me to hush and soothe me to sleep as I had been a sick child. And I, lying 'twixt sleep and wake, knew I might not rest until I told her what I had in mind.

"Damaris," says I, "this night I lied to you ... I would not have another man in my place ... now or ... ever!" and so sank to sleep.