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"You've never been ill yet, Zeen! It won't be anything this time." "I'm ill now, Zalia." "Wait, I'll get a light. Why aren't you in bed?" "In bed, in bed ... then it'll be for good, Zalia; I'm afraid of my bed." She felt along the ceiling for the lamp, then in the corner of the hearth for the tinder-box; she struck fire and lit up. Zeen looked pale, yellow, deathlike.
"I'll run home and fetch some, Zalia." "Yes, Mite, do." And Mite went off. "Well, Zeen, no better yet?" Zeen did not answer. She took a pail of water and a cloth, cleaned away the mess from beside the bed and then went back to peel her potatoes. Mite came back with the English salt. Treze Wizeur and Stanse Zegers, who had heard the news, also came to see how Zeen was getting on.
Zalia, with her head close to the ground, went on binding her sheaves. The sun was blazing. After a while, Zeen took up his sickle again and went on cutting down the corn. With short, even strokes, with a swing of his arm, the sickle rose and, with a "d-zin-n-n" fell at the foot of the cornstalks and brought them down in great armfuls.
"We haven't any mustard and it's far to the village." "Then he must have a bran bath, Zalia. Stanse, put on the kettle." "Have you any bran, Zalia?" "No, not ready; but there's maize." "And a sieve?" "Yes, there's a sieve." "Hi, Warten, come and sift!" Warten came in: "Zeen, how are you, my boy? Oh, how thin he is! And his breath ... it's spluttering, that's bad.
"Hurry, hurry, Virginie: he's almost stopped breathing!" The cat jumped between Zalia and Treze on to the bed and went making dough with its front paws on the clothes; it looked surprised at all those people and purred softly. Warten drove it away with his cap. "Receive, O Lord, Thy servant Zeen into the place of salvation which he hopes to obtain through Thy mercy." "Amen," they all answered.
I expect as it's that there missing one." "Do nod mock! She 'ees 'ere!" cried the count fiercely. Then Mrs. Dangerfield came out of the dining-room where she had been arranging flowers, and came to the door. "The princess is not here," she said gently. "But I haf zeen 'er! She haf now ad once coom! She 'ides!" cried the count.
"Oh, Zalia, it's so awfully hot here and it'll be long before it's evening!" "But, Zeen, what do you feel?" Zeen made no movement. "Are you ill?" "Yes, I am, Zalia. No, not ill, but I feel so queer and I think I ought to go home." Zalia did not know what to do: she was frightened and did not understand his funny talk.
She crept into the dark goat-house, put down the pot with the food and started milking. "Betje, Betje, Zeen is so ill; Zeen may be dying, Betje!" She always clacked to her goat like that. Two streams of milk came clattering in turns into the little pail. People came: Treze and Mite's little girl, with a lantern, and Barbara Dekkers, who had also come to have a look.
"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of Thy servant from all danger of hell and from all pain and tribulation." "Amen." "Deliver, O Lord, the soul of Thy servant Zeen, as Thou deliveredst Enoch and Elias from the common death of the world." "Amen." "Deliver, O Lord, the soul of Thy servant Zeen, as Thou deliveredst...." "I'm on fire! I'm on fire!" howled Warten. "My smock! My smock!"
Warten would go to the priest early in the morning and to the carpenter: the priest ought to have been here, 'twas a comfort after all; but Zeen had always been good and ... now to go dying all at once like this, without the sacraments.... Why couldn't she sleep now?
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