Her eyes were full of light.
“Yet men must live by bread.”
She set the pitcher on the grass, opened the saddle-bags, and spread their supper on the grass. Martin stood and watched her, mute, frowning, like a man breathless from a sudden pain at the heart.
“Mellis!”
“Dear lad?”
“I have been thinking.”
She went on calmly with her work, cutting the bread with a knife she had brought from Marvel’s cottage, and spreading honey upon the slices.
“What troubles you, Martin?”
He did not answer for a moment. She knelt, looking up at him; the obstinate anguish in his eyes betrayed to her all that was in his heart.
“Come, you are tired; you shall eat and sleep.”