She preferred bread and water. So, for
supper she took bread and water and nothing else, and went up to bed us
unhappy and nervous as a healthy, growing child well could be.
She had tried the mush, and the bread and water, and now she meant to
try the shorn head, which was the hardest of all, for she had a pride in
her hair, which so many had told her was beautiful.
Standing before her little glass, with the lamp beside her, she looked
at it admiringly for a while, turning her head from side to side to see
the bright ringlets glisten; then, with an unsteady hand the severed,
one by one, the shining tresses, on which her tears fell like rain as
she gathered them in a paper and put them away, wondering if the prison
shears would cut closer or shorter, and wondering if it would make any
difference that she was only a substitute, or at most an accessory.
It was a strange idea which had taken possession of her, and a senseless
one, but it was terribly real to her, and that little shorn head
represented as noble and complete a sacrifice as was ever made by older
and wiser people. There was no hard board to sleep upon, and so she took
the floor, with a pillow under her head and a blanket over her,
wondering the while if this were not a more luxurious couch than
convicts, who had stolen diamonds, were accustomed to have.
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