‘Yes.’
‘Dare I lift you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Not even lift your head to get it on my arm? I will do it by very gentle degrees. You shall hardly feel it.’
‘Not yet. Paper. Letter.’
‘This paper in your breast?’
‘Bless ye!’
‘Let me wet your lips again. Am I to open it? To read it?’
‘Bless ye!’
She reads it with surprise, and looks down with a new expression and an added interest on the motionless face she kneels beside.