The flail! Zita was surprised. One flail she knew that Drownlands held when she met him, the other she had herself picked up, and had used to prevent him from continuing his course, and to compel him to assist her father.
She stood still and considered. The matter was, however, of no consequence, so she stepped on. If she found the flail at Prickwillow, she would take it to Crumbland. It belonged to Mark Runham by right.
'What is it?' asked the young man, surprised at her look of concentrated thought.
'It is nothing particular,' she answered; 'something occurred to me—that is all. But it is of no matter.'
'I should like to know what is going to become of you,' said the young man. 'Have you no kindred at all?'
'None that I know of.'
'And no home?'
'None, as I said, but the van. When that is sold, I shall have none at all.'
'But you have friends?'