It was not that of the light-footed maiden.
Elspeth returned into the cave and began to prepare her meal. The sound
of the footsteps continued to fall upon her ears; they came nearer. She
went to the entrance and drew aside the deerskin curtain. She started
back at sight of Roderic the Outlaw.
"You!" she cried, scowling. "What devil's work now brings you back to
Bute? for evil it must surely be that tempts you hither."
"Cease your croaking, Elspeth Blackfell," said he, "and give me food.
This cold has crept into my very marrow. Quick, give me food."
Elspeth stood aside and allowed him to enter. He went to the fire and
snatched up a burning peat, moving it rapidly from hand to hand, and
blowing it into a red glow with his misty breath. Then when he had
warmed himself, he took out his dirk and cut up some wood for the fire,
making the flames rise high about the pot until the water began to simmer.
Elspeth, without speaking, brought him an oaten cake, which he
ravenously devoured. By the time that he had eaten it the water was
boiling. He thrust his strong red hand into the bag of oatmeal, and then
proceeded to stir the porridge, while the old woman brought wooden bowls
and a dish of goat's milk.
They ate their meal in silence, each eyeing the other with suspicious
glances of mutual hatred. Not until he had appeased his hunger did
Roderic say more than a few casual words.
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