“That’s no matter. Here!”
He forced upon her a bowl of hot broth, and she drank it because she could not resist his rough kindness.
“Good! Now a piece of meat,” he said.
“Please, Mr. Blake!” she protested.
“Yes, you must!”
She took a bite, and sought to eat; but there was such a lump in her throat that she could not swallow. The tears gushed into her eyes, and she began to weep.
Blake’s close-set lips relaxed, and he nodded.
“That’s it; let it run out. You’re overwrought. There’s nothing like a good cry to ease off a woman’s nerves–and I guess ladies aren’t much different from women when it comes to such things.”
“But I–I want to get the flag mended!” she sobbed.
“All right, all right; plenty of time!” he soothed. “I’m going to see how things look down the cleft.”