XVI. — THE NATURE OF AN OATH
“Your tray! It is after ten o'clock. Your 'angel' is a bad nurse.” Moya brought the tray and set it on a little stand beside Paul's chair. He watched her shy, excited preparations as she moved about, conscious of his eyes. The saucepan staggered upon the coals and they both sprang to save the broth, and pouring it she burnt her thumb a little, and he behaved quite like any ordinary young man. They were ecstatic to find themselves at ease with each other once more. Moya became disrespectful to her charge; such sweet daring looked from her eyes into his as made him riotous with joy.
“Won't you take some with me?” He turned the cup towards her and watched her as she sipped.
“'It was roast with fire,'” he pronounced softly and dreamily, 'because of the dreadful pains. It was to be eaten with bitter herbs'”—
“What are you saying?”—
“'To remind them of their bondage.'”
“I object to your talking about bondage and bitter herbs when you are eating aunt Annie's delicious consommé.”
He gravely sipped in turn, still with his eyes in hers. “Can you remember what you were doing on the second of November?”