"Is—is there a place that I could lie down?"
"Why, certainly, come right in and lie down on my sofa."
Inside the room which had a glazed door and a broad window looking out over the water, Margaret hesitated and then, instead of lying down on the old-fashioned mahogany sofa, drew close to her rescuer.
"I am not ill," she said, seizing the soft hand of the elder woman and speaking quickly, "it was only an excuse to get inside. But I am in deep trouble. Will you not help me?"
"How can I help you, my child? What is your trouble?"
"A man is following me—is trying to get my child. I don't know whether he saw me come in here or not, but if he comes—oh, do not let him get us!"
"He shall not see you if you do not wish to be seen."
"But if he should force himself in?"
"He will not try that, I think." Then, with gentle, courteous directness, "Is this man your husband? Has he any right to the child?"
"Oh, no—no. My husband—" She hesitated, took one more look into the strong, forceful face before her, and trusted it. "My husband is dead. I haven't time to explain, but his brother is trying to get my child. Oh! there's that man now!"