"You are the Erith woman, are you not?" he demanded.
She was silent.
"You Yankee slut," he added, nodding to himself and staring up into her bloodless face.
Her eyes wandered; she looked at, but scarcely saw the lovely wildflowers under foot, the butterflies flashing their burnished wings among the sunbeams.
"Drop her arm." The signaller let go and stood at attention.
"Take her knife and pistol and your flags and go across the stream to the hut."
The signaller saluted, gathered the articles mentioned, and went away in that clumping, rocking gait of the land peasant of Hundom.
"Now," said the officer, "strip off your coat!"
She turned scarlet, but he sprang to his feet and tore her coat from her. She fought off every touch; several times he struck her—once so sharply that the blood gushed from her mouth and nose; but still she fought him; and when he had completed his search of her person, he was furious, streaked with sweat and all smeared with her blood.
"Damned cat of a Yankee!" he panted, "stand there where you are or
I'll blow your face off!"