HERNANDO PEREIRA





Several more days passed before I was allowed out of that little
war-stained room of which I grew to hate the very sight. I entreated my
father to take me into the air, but he would not, saying that he feared
lest any movement should cause the bleeding to begin again or even the
cut artery to burst. Moreover, the wound was not healing very well, the
spear that caused it having been dirty or perhaps used to skin dead
animals, which caused some dread of gangrene, that in those days
generally meant death. As it chanced, although I was treated only with
cold water, for antiseptics were then unknown, my young and healthy
blood triumphed and no gangrene appeared.

What made those days even duller was that during them I saw very little
of Marie, who now only entered the place in the company of her father.
Once I managed to ask her why she did not come oftener and alone. Her
face grew troubled as she whispered back, "Because it is not allowed,
Allan," and then without another word left the place.

Why, I wondered to myself, was it not allowed, and an answer sprang up
in my mind. Doubtless it was because of that tall young man who had
argued with my father in the wagon-house. Marie had never spoken to me