"Patience--patience! Let me first set down the lamp. There! Well, he has drunk and it has done him good."
Rauthgundis laid her hand upon her heart.
"'What is he doing?" she asked.
"He always sits in the same position, perfectly silent. He sits on a stone block, his back turned to the door, his head supported on his hands. He gives me no answer when I speak to him. Generally he does not even move; I believe grief and pain have stupefied him. But to-day, when I handed him the wine in the wooden cup and said, 'Drink, dear sir; it comes from true friends,' he looked up. Ah, his look was so sorrowful, as sad as death! He drank deeply, and bowed his head thankfully, and gave such a sigh, that it cut me to the heart."
Rauthgundis covered her eyes with her hand.
"God knows what horrid thing that man means to do to him!" the old man murmured to himself.
"What sayest thou?"
"I say that you must eat and drink well, or else you will lose your strength; and you will need it before long, poor woman!"
"I shall have strength enough!"
"Then take at least a cup of wine."