“God sent you,” she said. “May He keep His hand over you wherever you go.”
Mackenzie got to his feet; she picked up the ax and leaned it against the table close to her hand.
“I will give you eggs, you can cook them at a fire,” she said, “and bread I will give you, but butter I cannot give. That I have not tasted since I came to this land, four years ago, a bride.”
She moved about to get the food, walking with awkwardness 14 on the foot that had dragged the chain so long, laughing a little at her efforts to regain a normal balance.
“Soon it will pass away, and I will walk like a lady, as I once knew how.”
“But I don’t want to cook at a fire,” Mackenzie protested; “I want you to make me some coffee and fry me some eggs, and then we’ll see about things.”
She came close to him, her great gray eyes seeming to draw him until he gazed into her soul.
“No; you must go,” she said. “It will be better when Swan comes that nobody shall be here but me.”
“But you! Why, you poor thing, he’ll put that chain on you again, knock you down, for all I know, and fasten you up like a beast. I’m not going; I’ll stay right here till he comes.”
“No,” shaking her head in sad earnestness, “better it will be for all that I shall be here alone when he comes.”