"You are determined to--to do this?
To lodge here ?" "Firmly," he answered, smiling.
"Then wait." She passed by him and, moving to the fireplace, raised the lid of the great black pot.

The broth inside was boiling and bubbling to within an inch of the lip, the steam rose from it in a fragrant cloud.
She took an iron spoon and looked at him, a strange look in her eyes.
"Stand where you are," she said, "and I will try you, if you are fit to come to us or no.

Stand, do you hear," she repeated, a note of excitation, almost of mockery, in her voice, "where you are whatever happens! You understand ?" "Yes, I am to stand here, whatever happens," he answered, wondering.
What was she going to do?
She was going to do a thing outside the limits of his imagination.

She dipped the iron spoon in the pot and, extending her left arm, deliberately allowed some drops of the scalding liquor to fall on the bare flesh.

He saw the arm wince, saw red blisters spring out on the white skin, he caught the sharp indraw of her breath, but he did not move.