She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. She hunted the markets for bread and treats so they could feast during the day. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTMzLjEzMS4xOTcgLSAwMS0wNi0yMDI0IDIyOjA4OjMzIC0gMTg4NTgyMzAwMQ==
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