"Because he saved my life and I do," replied the child, setting her face.
Then, without another word, she turned and began to walk towards their
camp--a very heavy journey it was to Rachel.

When Rachel reached the waggon she found that her mother was more or less
recovered. At any rate the attack of fever had left her so that she felt
able to rise from her bed. Now, although still weak, she was engaged in
packing away the garments of her dead baby in a travelling chest, weeping
in a silent, piteous manner as she worked. It was a very sad sight. When
she saw Rachel she opened her arms without a word, and embraced her.

"You were not frightened about me, mother?" asked the child.

"No, my love," she answered, "because I knew that no harm would come to
you. I have always known that. It was a mad thing of your father to send
you to such a place at such a time, but no folly of his or of anyone else
can hurt you who are destined to live. Never be afraid of anything,
Rachel, for remember always you will only die in old age."

"I am not sure that I am glad of that," answered the girl, as she pulled
off her wet clothes. "Life isn't a very happy thing, is it, mother, at
least for those who live as we do?"

"There is good and bad in it, dear; we can't have one without the
other--most of us. At any rate, we must take it as it comes, who have to
walk a path that we did not make, and stop walking when our path comes to
an end, not a step before or after. But, Rachel, you are changed since
yesterday. I see it in your face. What has happened to you?"