"It is not enough," said she then. "They must have water."
"There is no water here," Anflete my servant answered. "We sought it high and low before my lady's coming."
She wrung her hands in sharp woe.
"O Christ, have mercy!" she said. "O Mary, that art our mother, hasten—help!"
Then her passion seemed to leave her, and she knelt, and began to speak in still, low tones; but I heard her words.
"Father of all goodness," she prayed, "save these twain alive, who are more to Thee than the wild sparrows! Strengthen then, Lord, I beseech thee, the gift that Thou hast bestowed upon Thine handmaid!"
Having so said, she arose, and quickly bade her folk bear the children with them, and shade the little ones' heads. It was high noon now, but she flung her hood back, and her wimple fell away and hung down with the hood, so that her bright hair was laid bare, and her shapely neck and breast of ivory. Many a woman would have seemed light-minded, even wanton, so; but our Edith was queen in everything she did. Although the soil was burning, and scorched the feet through riding-boots, she began to walk swiftly, glidingly, around and about. She held her riding-switch, a toy with handle of gold and amber, bent bow-wise between her two hands. Her lips were parted, as those of one who breathes-in freshest air.
And we followed, a great awe upon us. We were once more in the lane where we had rested, when a gleam awoke in her eyes, which had become dark and shut off from earthly sight, and she sped ahead of us even faster than at first. She came to where the bank overhung, and was covered with sagging ferns, shrivelled and caked with dust. A shiver shot through her whole body, and the switch that she carried started and writhed as it had been a live snake.
"God be praised!" she exclaimed. "Here is water for them!" She stamped her foot. "Dig! dig! Bring spades—Oh, dig! Quick! Would ye see them die before your eyes?"
"Sebbe the charcoal-burner!" said Anflete. "I will fetch his spade."