He stayed on, bending awkwardly over her.
"So sick! So sick! So sick!" moaned the wizened grandmother.
"Thou sayest they have compassion on thee in their talk," he murmured at last, half deprecatingly, half resentfully; "have they none on me?"
Her silence chilled him. "But thou hast compassion, Sarah," he urged. "Thou understandest."
Presently she reopened her eyes.
"Thou art not gone?" she murmured.
"No—thou seest I am not tired of thee, Sarah, my life! Only—"
"Wilt thou wash my skin, and not make me wet?" she interrupted bitterly. "Go home. Go home to her!"
"I will not go home."
"Then go under like Korah."