“Because I know he would never let me go away,” she answered. “He needs this poor, helpless creature whom he can torture at will. With all his brutality and violent temper, he is, after all, just a coward. And besides—where should I go?” she added with a deep sigh. She took up the hammer again; George, now a little stronger, reached for his, too, and soon they were both hard at work.
Hour after hour passed; the burning heat of midday lay oppressively over mountains and valleys; not a sign of life anywhere, save the monotonous click of the hammers and now and then the call of a woodpecker and the rough singing of the men working along the tracks.
Suddenly there came the shrill sound of a bell.
“What is that?” asked George, noticing that the laborers had laid down their tools and were walking toward the house.
“The foreman rang the bell; it is meal-time.”
“Is it time to eat?” he asked, with a faint voice. “What do you get here?”
“Buckwheat gruel and potatoes. To-day probably some roast pork, too; they brought some meat up yesterday.”
“It is very long since I tasted meat the last time,” he said thoughtfully. “Who is doing the cooking here, tell me?”
“The foreman; he does not trust any one else. Besides, he likes to do it. This work up here he cares very little about and lets it all drift. Once in a while he goes about and inspects, never without scolding and cursing, especially those who have not the courage to answer back. And now I will give you a piece of advice: do not eat any meat to-day. You are still suffering from the fever, and it might hurt you. For you must know that man has no conscience whatever and often buys bad meat from the butcher at Schottwien. He pays very little for it and sells it here at a high price, for the railway officers have given him the sole right to deal in provisions, and every one here is compelled to buy from him all that is necessary; so he makes a great deal of money.”
“Well, there is no danger of my buying any meat,” said George bitterly. “I have no money.”