Agathemer and I looked at each other. We had used our one pair of scissors mutually and our hair and beards were not shaggy or bushy. But we were a rough, rather fierce-looking, pair.
"This," she said, "is terrible, terrible! Where are my daughters?"
"Playing about out in the sunshine," I said. "Plump and well-fed, and healthy and cheerful."
"This," she repeated, "is terrible, terrible! May I not see them, may I not speak to them, will you not bring them to me?"
"Indeed we will," I said and motioned to Agathemer. While he was gone the woman and I regarded each other without speaking. When Agathemer returned with the children I said:
"We will leave you to talk to your daughters alone. When you wish us to return send one of the children for us."
The joy of the two at the sight of their mother, sensible and able to recognize them, was pathetic. Sobbing and laughing, they flung themselves on the bed and embraced her, kissing her and she kissing each.
We went out and set to chopping and riving wood.
Before very long Secunda came out and said her mother wanted to speak to me. Leaving Agathemer plying his maul I went in.
The woman was now well propped up against a heap of pillows. She told the children to run off and play till she sent for them. Then she motioned me to seat myself on the chest. I did so.