"Sista, he's coming tul't. Slip away for watter, lass," said Gubblum.
Mercy was gone and back in an instant.
"Let a be, let a be—he'll come round in a crack. Rub his forehead—stir thy hand, lass—pour the watter—there, that's enough—plenty o' butter wad sto a dog. Sista, he's coming tul't fast."
Paul Ritson had opened his eyes.
"Slip away for mair watter, lass—there, that's summat like—rest ye, my lad—a drink?—ey, a sup o' watter."
Paul looked around him. His filmy eyes were full of questions. But at first his tongue would not speak. He looked up at the bare skylight and around at the bleached walls, and then back into the face of the peddler. He noticed Mercy, and smiled.
"Where are we, my girl?" he said, faintly.
"This is the Hawk and Heron," she answered.
"How do I come to be here?" he asked.
Mercy covered her face, and sobbed.