She understood terror better far than tenderness.
When the wise woman looked at her thus, she fell on her knees, and
held up her hands to her, crying,--
"Oh, don't eat me! don't eat me!"
Now this being the best SHE could do, it was a sign she was a low
creature. Think of it--to kick at kindness, and kneel from terror.
But the sternness on the face of the wise woman came from the same
heart and the same feeling as the kindness that had shone from it
before. The only thing that could save the princess from her
hatefulness, was that she should be made to mind somebody else than
her own miserable Somebody.
Without saying a word, the wise woman reached down her hand, took
one of Rosamond's, and, lifting her to her feet, led her along
through the moonlight. Every now and then a gush of obstinacy would
well up in the heart of the princess, and she would give a great
ill-tempered tug, and pull her hand away; but then the wise woman
would gaze down upon her with such a look, that she instantly sought
again the hand she had rejected, in pure terror lest she should be
eaten upon the spot.
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