Katharina knelt by his side, and held the helmet to his
lips.
"Themire!" gasped the wounded man.
At sound of the name a sudden fury seemed to seize the woman.
"De Fervlans!" she cried, in a hoarse voice. "_You!_ you, the accursed
destroyer of my daughter! May God refuse to forgive you for making of me
the wretched creature I am!"
As she spoke she raised the helmet, of water above her head, as if she
would dash it upon the dying man's face; but he turned his head away
from her furious gaze, and did not stir again.
Slowly Katharina lowered the helmet, and struggled with her excited
feelings. She looked about her, and saw another motionless form lying
across a clump of turf. Perhaps he was still alive. Perhaps she might
help him.
She stepped quickly to his side with the helmet of water and washed the
blood and mud-stains from his face. Ah, what a hideous face it was! All
the same, she carefully washed it, then bathed the gaping wounds in his
head. They were horribly deep, and she was almost overcome by the
fearful sight. But she looked upward for a moment, and it seemed to her
as if she recognized amid the fleecy clouds a snow-white form, and heard
an encouraging voice say:
"That is right, mother.
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