She ran to the well, sank the bucket into it, brought a gourd full, and came and crouched by his head while he drank.
“Thank you, marm.”
He looked up into her face a moment.
“I think I am going,” he whispered.
She pillowed his head upon her arm, laid back the hair from his manly brow, and fanned him with her apron.
“Please tell her,” he whispered.
“Tell who?”
She bowed her head to catch the word.
“Tell—Rachel.”