His feet
were bare, and his head and hair dripping wet; the look on his thin dark
face went to Barbara's heart. She ran forward, and took his hand. This
was burning hot, but the sight of her seemed to have frozen his tongue
and eyes. And the contrast of his burning hand with this frozen silence,
frightened Barbara horribly. She could think of nothing but to put her
other hand to his forehead. That too was burning hot!
"What brought you here?" he said.
She could only murmur:
"Oh! Eusty! Are you ill?"
Miltoun took hold of her wrists.
"It's all right, I've been working too hard; got a touch of fever."
"So I can feel," murmured Barbara. "You ought to be in bed. Come home
with me."
Miltoun smiled. "It's not a case for leeches."
The look of his smile, the sound of his voice, sent a shudder through
her.
"I'm not going to leave you here alone."
But Miltoun's grasp tightened on her wrists.
"My dear Babs, you will do what I tell you. Go home, hold your tongue,
and leave me to burn out in peace."
Barbara sustained that painful grip without wincing; she had regained
her calmness.
"You must come! You haven't anything here, not even a cool drink."
"My God! Barley water!"
The scorn he put into those two words was more withering than a whole
philippic against redemption by creature comforts.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241