At least I had my beautiful mother's hair, thick and curling; that was all Vesty could see now there on her shoulder. I comforted myself with that thought as a child. I was weak, and I let some tears roll down my face that Vesty could not see.
When the strong fellows took me out of the sleigh and bore me very gently up to the door they stopped there for a moment, while I wondered; and if any bitter sense of their physical supremacy pierced me at that moment it ceased forever, as with a preconcerted signal from the foremost they lifted the caps from their heads and cheered my name, thrice and again, and again, with ringing cheers—and Vesty standing by!
The old Basin flag—almost as dilapidated as I—had heard nothing like it; but when they dressed the swollen arm pain sent me off into oblivion again. Vesty's was the last face I saw bending over me:
"Do you"—timidly—"do you want me to come to-morrow, and see how you are?"
"Oh, if you will—thank you! Still, I am all right—I shall be all right, never fear."
She lingered still a moment, but spoke calmly:
"If you don't care anything about me why did you risk your life to save me from getting hurt?"
A demon possessed me. Pity I could have endured, but if she were stung on by that inflicted sense of gratitude?
"Why did you risk your life to save me?"
"Oh, it was pity, child," I answered her; the surging bitterness within made it almost a sneer—"natural human pity: it is strong in all my race."