After watching her for some moments, I spoke: "Rima, there must
be a good deal of strength in that frame of yours, which looks so
delicate; will you raise me up a little?"

She went down on one knee and, placing her arms round me,
assisted me to a sitting posture.

"Thank you, Rima--oh, misery!" I groaned. "Is there a bone left
unbroken in my poor body?"

"Nothing broken," cried the old man, clouds of smoke flying out
with his words. "I have examined you well--legs, arms, ribs.
For this is how it was, senor. A thorny bush into which you fell
saved you from being flattened on the stony ground. But you are
bruised, sir, black with bruises; and there are more scratches of
thorns on your skin than letters on a written page."

"A long thorn might have entered my brain," I said, "from the way
it pains. Feel my forehead, Rima; is it very hot and dry?"

She did as I asked, touching me lightly with her little cool
hand. "No, senor, not hot, but warm and moist," she said.

"Thank Heaven for that!" I said. "Poor girl! And you followed
me through the wood in all that terrible storm! Ah, if I could
lift my bruised arm I would take your hand to kiss it in
gratitude for so great a service. I owe you my life, sweet
Rima--what shall I do to repay so great a debt?"