She clung to the bridle.
'You may ride over me, and kill me too. I will not let go.'
'What do you mean?' asked he, with a gasp. 'What do you mean by "kill me too"?'
'You shall ride over me, but I shall not let go.'
'But why did you say "kill me too"?' he asked threateningly.
'I will die as well as my father. I do not care to live if he die. How can you leave him? how can you be so cruel?' She broke forth into vehemence that shook her whole frame, and shook the horse whose bridle she grappled.
'What's that?' asked Drownlands, as the horse stumbled.
He held up the lantern.
On the embankment, under the horse's feet, lay the flail that had been twisted into his tiger-skin.
'I know you—I know you,' said the girl. 'It was you who bought the flail.' Then again, 'My father is ill. He is sitting on the bank; he cannot walk. He will die of the cold if you do not help.'