The woodman
was still staring at his guest: at the wreck of the rich dress, the
bare arms, the bedraggled laces and the gems. He found no word to
utter.
'Give me food,' said she, - 'here, by the fire.'
He set down a pitcher of coarse wine, bread, a piece of cheese, and
a handful of raw onions. The bread was hard and sour, the cheese
like leather; even the onion, which ranks with the truffle and the
nectarine in the chief place of honour of earth's fruits, is not
perhaps a dish for princesses when raw. But she ate, if not with
appetite, with courage; and when she had eaten, did not disdain the
pitcher. In all her life before, she had not tasted of gross food
nor drunk after another; but a brave woman far more readily accepts
a change of circumstances than the bravest man. All that while, the
woodman continued to observe her furtively, many low thoughts of
fear and greed contending in his eyes. She read them clearly, and
she knew she must begone.
Presently she arose and offered him a florin.
'Will that repay you?' she asked.
But here the man found his tongue. 'I must have more than that,'
said he.
'It is all I have to give you,' she returned, and passed him by
serenely.
Yet her heart trembled, for she saw his hand stretched forth as if
to arrest her, and his unsteady eyes wandering to his axe. A beaten
path led westward from the clearing, and she swiftly followed it.
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