"Go and
draw water for her," she said, simply, "while I give her the bread; that
will save time. Every minute is precious."
I did as I was bid, not knowing each moment but that the insurgents
would return. When I came back from the spring with the bucket, the mare
had demolished the whole two loaves, and was going on upon some grass
which Hilda had plucked for her.
"She hasn't had enough, poor dear," Hilda said, patting her neck. "A
couple of loaves are penny buns to her appetite. Let her drink the
water, while I go in and fetch out the rest of the baking."
I hesitated. "You CAN'T go in there again, Hilda!" I cried. "Wait, and
let me do it."
Her white face was resolute. "Yes, I CAN," she answered. "It is a work
of necessity; and in works of necessity a woman, I think, should flinch
at nothing. Have I not seen already every varied aspect of death at
Nathaniel's?" And in she went, undaunted, to that chamber of horrors,
still clasping the baby.
The pony made short work of the remaining loaves, which she devoured
with great zest. As Hilda had predicted, they seemed to hearten her. The
food and drink, with a bucket of water dashed on her hoofs, gave her
new vigour like wine.
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