When the talk reached Mrs. Tom's ears, Sabina was still undecided whether to attempt the weary climb back to health or slip quietly away. The loss of her limbs inclined her to the latter course. She could not bear to contemplate life as a cripple. The thought of the fields over which she had ridden, of the market-place in which she had bought and sold, of the whole familiar countryside, was unbearable. Better lie quiet up at Church Town than go limping where she had once leaped and run. Mrs. Tom, coming into the ward at a moment when Sabina, with "I don't want any o' that old traäde," was refusing good nourishment, decided that the truth might be as good for her as a tonic.
"How be 'ee to-day, S'bina, how be gettin' on?"
The injured woman looked at her with weary bloodshot eyes. "I dunno. I don't feel very special."
Isolda seated herself on a cane chair facing the patient and took out her knitting. As she made not only her husband's stockings but those of her five daughters, she had always one on hand. "What do 'ee feel like?"
"My dear life, I suffer like a Turk. I'd soon be dead as livin'."
Mrs. Tom's face expressed her sympathy. "'Av 'ee got much pain?"
"Yes, I ache something awful—in my legs."
The other stared in surprise. "In yer legs? But you 'aven't got any."
"Well, seem like I 'av them."
Mrs. Rosevear laughed. "If that doesn't beat everything!"