"Do what I ask you--do for
your dead daughter's sake--or the birds and the flowers will die of
hunger and thirst. Take the key and promise me."
He took the key, and promised.
"Do not let them see those buckles shine; they will rob you," he added.
Bebee ran from him fast; every moment that was lost was so precious and
so terrible. To pause a second for fear's sake never occurred to her. She
went forth as fearlessly as a young swallow, born in northern April days,
flies forth on instinct to new lands and over unknown seas when autumn
falls.
Necessity and action breathed new life into her. The hardy and brave
peasant ways of her were awoke once more. She had been strong to wait
silently with the young life in her dying out drop by drop in the
heart-sickness of long delay. She was strong now to throw herself into
strange countries and dim perils and immeasurable miseries, on the sole
chance that she might be of service to him.
A few human souls here and there can love like dogs. Bebee's was one.
CHAPTER XXVII.
It was dark. The May days are short in the north lands of the Scheldt.
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