"I shall speak no further to you. Food will be brought, and no harm will happen to you."
With that he left the room as quietly as he came, and I heard his footsteps echoing again as I had heard them when he came to me. For a time my brain seemed to grow weak again, and in spite of my anxiety I dropped into a fitful sleep, from which I was aroused by the chinking of crockery near me.
My sleep made me feel stronger; I felt far better than when the old man had visited me. I looked around the room again, and saw a hard-featured woman. She, too, was elderly, fast beating on toward sixty. She placed a basin of gruel at my side.
"'Ere," she said, "ait this."
"Ah," I thought, "I am still in Cornwall. Anyhow, the woman speaks with a Cornish accent."
I thought I might fare better with her than with the old man, so I tried to gain some information from her.
"Let's see," I said, "what part of Cornwall are we in?"
"Ait yer mait, an' ax no questions," was her response.
I ate the gruel with a good appetite. It was carefully made, and seemed to be seasoned with some pleasant-tasting cordial. When I had finished the old woman grunted with satisfaction.
"It is very nice," I said—"very nice. Whoever made it knows her work. Did you make it?"