Her mother put her to bed on that second night, to which she consented only because it was less troublesome than to refuse. And whether she slept at all the woman could not have said, for in the morning she lay exactly as she had before, hands at her sides, staring blankly at some fixed point above her. Again she would not eat, and rising, drank a little water only because her throat felt dry and uncomfortable. But as the third morning wore on, the young girl began to show signs of agitation, as it recalling some unpleasant fact that interfered with her sullen wish to die. All at once she stood up from the chair, pulling the hair at her temples and groaning angrily. The old woman, glad for any sign of life, stepped closer. "What is it, Mary?" "The fool! The fool!" she raged, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. "Who?" "Stephen Purceville! Today we are to, `Ride again, and make our love in the fields.' Oh, if he only knew how I detest him now!" As if some horrid music box which played always the same restless dirge, the lid of it thus lifted, her mother's long obsession for vengeance once more began to work inside her. Even then. "You must be careful, lass. If you tell him as much there could be trouble, and not the swift and easy death you seem to long for. If you truly wish to hurt him---" Mary cut her short with a swift, knifing motion of her arm. Upon hearing these words an intolerable irritation had come over her at the stupidity of these sorry puppets: her mother, and the Purcevilles both young and old, playing out their little games of lust and hate, as if they mattered at all in the end. How could they fail to see that everything, everything ended in death and ruin? All their petty desires were less than meaningless; they were absurd. But this was not what lay at the heart of her unease. For at the thought of her half-brother, and of the very real threat he posed, the will to survive had once more begun to assert itself inside her. She was afraid. And this simple, undeniable impulse---the desire to avoid pain and danger---tormented her now because it would not be suppressed. Death she did not fear. But thoughts of trying to fight off her brother's oblivious, self-satisfied advances, the possibility of rape or imprisonment if she refused him..... These she could not face. "I've got to get out of here!" she said suddenly, as if herself a puppet whose strings had been violently jerked. And rushing to the door before her mother could stop her, she broke from the hut and began running wildly down the path, her one desire to reach its root and turn aside before Stephen Purceville could arrive there, trapping her in the narrow pass.