The soldier drew reverently back as a girl entered and sprang past him. She sat down on the flags by the bedside and took the dead man’s hand in her own two hands. Not a tear was in her eyes; she only gasped like a trapped animal, and the man listening could see how her lips opened and shut. The sound of the bellows drowned everything. He strode to the hearth and shook the woman violently by the arm. “For God’s sake, put away that infernal thing,” he said.
She rose from her knees and hung up the bellows in the chimney-corner, the fire-irons clattering as she searched about among them for the hook. When he looked round again he saw that the girl had fainted and was lying face downwards on the floor.
He turned to the bellows-blower, who, now that her occupation had ended, was standing idle by the fire; she took but little heed of what had happened.
“You had better do something for her,” he suggested after a pause. “Isn’t there another room that we could take her to? Poor thing, I can carry her there.”
“She’s a shameless wench,” said the woman without moving.
He went to the bedside and raised Mary in his arms. “Go on,” he ordered, nodding decisively towards the door at the back of the room, and the woman went sullenly forward, while he followed with his burden.
He laid the girl in a large wooden chair which was almost the only piece of furniture to be seen. Kneeling by her, he rubbed her palms until her eyelids opened vacantly, and she tried to sit up. As recollection dawned in her eyes she gave a sob, hiding her face.
“He’s dead, he’s dead,” she murmured more to herself than to her companions.
“Aye, he be dead,” responded the elder woman in her uncompromising voice, “and afore you’ve had time to bring him to disgrace too.”
“Sir, sir,” faltered Mary, turning to the captain, “how was it? How——?”