“Of course you are, so is Peg; so am I, and the poor chickens too!” answered Jane, rising with her mouth full, and playfully aiming fragments of bread at the open bars of the hen-coop. “It’s human nature to be hungry.”
“Oh! it’s against nature. I shall perish with hunger—with enough to eat all around me, every living thing mocks my want. See them eat! see them eat! the greedy, ungrateful wretches—see them! and I starving, starving, starving!”
The poor woman made a desperate effort to spring up and seize the food before her; but her head reeled, her limbs quivered, and darkness filled her eyes instead of tears. She fell back upon the bed with an impatient cry of anguish, which was rendered hideous by the eager munching of the cat and the satisfied chuckle of the hens,—all too busy with their own wants for any thought of her.
“Come, come!” said Jane, more feelingly, “tell me where the box is, and you shall have a beautiful meal!”
“I cannot, I cannot!” moaned the old lady,—“ask anything else, and I will. Do!”
“That box, with the iron clamps. Nothing more, nothing less, tell me where it is!”
“In the bank. I have told you.”
“It is here. I will have it within an hour, whether you tell me or not. But if I am obliged to search for it, the fiends may feed you if they will—not a mouthful shall you have from me!”
“Oh! cruel, cruel. What can I say? how shall I move you?”
“Tell where the box is!”