"Take it away! the sight of it makes me ill!"
"Verra weel; just as you please. I'll set it here, till ye come to your stomach," said the dame, setting the can and plate down upon the stone floor, for there was no other place to put them.
"I want a fire—I am frozen!" cried Faustina.
"Why did na ye say sae before?" growled the dame, going out.
In a few minutes she came back, bringing coals and kindlings and lighted the fire, and then retreated as sullenly as she had entered. Faustina drew near the stove, and sat down upon the floor to hover over it.
When she grew warm her eyes began to glitter dangerously. She turned herself around and surveyed the place. Like the frozen viper thawed to life, her first instinct was to bite.
"I would like to set fire to the prison !" she said.
But a moment's reflection proved to her the folly of this impulse. If she should use the fire in her stove for such incendiary purposes, herself would be the only thing burned up; the cell of stone and its furniture of iron would escape with a smoking.
She put off her bonnet and her sables—the first time since the night before, and she threw herself upon the bed, and lay there in a torment until six o'clock in the evening, when the door was once more unlocked by the dame, who brought her the prison supper—a tin can of oatmeal porridge.
"Here's your parritch; ye may eat it or leave it, just as ye please," said the woman, setting the can on the floor.