So I asked her again about her people--whether I couldn't
send for someone belonging to her. 'There's none that belongs to me,'
she says, 'and there's no one I belong to.'
"I thought very likely she didn't want to tell me about herself; perhaps
because she had done wrong, and her family had not been good to her. Yet
it was right I should try and get her folks to come, if she had any
folks. So I said to her, 'Where was your home?' And now, what do you
think she answered, m'sieu'?' 'Look there,' she said to me, with her big
eyes standing out of her head almost--for that's what comes to her
sometimes when she is in pain, and she looks more handsome then than at
any other time--'Look there,' she said to me, 'it was in heaven, that's
where--my home was; but I didn't know it. I hadn't been taught to know
the place when I saw it.'
"Well, I felt my skin go goosey, for I saw what was going on in her
mind, and how she was remembering what had happened to her some time,
somewhere; but there wasn't a tear in her eyes, and I never saw her cry-
never once, m'sieu'--well, but as brave as brave. Her eyes are always
dry--burning. They're like two furnaces scorching up her face.
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