She seemed, however, to realize directly the hopelessness or the
difficulty of the undertaking, stopped, hesitated, tottered back slowly;
then, after blinking dully, fell suddenly on her knees amongst the white
ashes, and, bending over the heap of smouldering coals, distended her
sunken cheeks in a steady effort to blow up the hidden sparks into a
useful blaze. Lingard looked down on her, but she seemed to have made
up her mind that there was not enough life left in her lean body for
anything else than the discharge of the simple domestic duty, and,
apparently, she begrudged him the least moment of attention.
After waiting for awhile, Lingard asked--
"Why did you call, O daughter?"
"I saw you enter," she croaked feebly, still grovelling with her
face near the ashes and without looking up, "and I called--the cry of
warning. It was her order. Her order," she repeated, with a moaning
sigh.
"And did she hear?" pursued Lingard, with gentle composure.
Her projecting shoulder-blades moved uneasily under the thin stuff of
the tight body jacket.
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