"Yes, I sent her away. I feared for her," she replied.
"It was well done, Gunga, else—else I might have killed her——Ay, girl," he resumed, after a pause, "I had killed her but for Tara. Why did she come and not stay? Why did she take the knife from me?"
"Thou art always raving of that girl like a fool, Moro Trimmul," said Gunga impatiently. "It was I that saved thy sister, else there was blood in thine eyes, and a devil at thy heart; what if thou hadst struck her?"
"She and Tara are one," he said gloomily; "yes, they are one, and thou, too, wilt go to them. Go, Gunga, they will give thee money."
"May dirt fall on their money, and thine too," she replied sulkily. "I want none of it."
"Thou art insolent, girl."
"I am a fool, Moro Trimmul, to bear with thee," she retorted, without moving. The girl's quick perception showed her that any toleration of his bad humour would only increase it, and of life she was utterly reckless. What tie held her to the man who now seemed almost to loathe her, she knew not: a fascination, perhaps, which she could not resist.
He was long silent, again drew the sheet over him, and lay quietly; at length he removed it and sat up.
"Thou art not gone, Gunga?" he said; "why art thou here?"