She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. She loved her mother Marina more than any other thing in the world and could not bear to speak to her for a fortnight after being told her fate. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. A time may come,—and that ere long,—when you will be glad to purchase my secrets, and your own safety, at a dearer price than the heads of your companions. She loved to be told to do things. If I do not look after her, she has no one.
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