"I—"
"Don't deny it!" Querulous imperiousness was in the voice. "You hate me—you'll go back to Boston and tell my mother about this. I know—you've got the upper hand now. You'll tell her why I came out here—you'll tell her about the baby, won't you? Yes, you'll—"
"I'll tell nothing of the sort, Agnes. I don't fight that way. You ought to know that. You've been my enemy, I'll admit. I've felt bitter, terribly so, against you. I believed that you used my trust to betray me. But I believe I know the reason now. Besides, the harm's done. It's in the past. I fight men, not women."
"Do you want help?" A thin hand stretched out. "Will you give me a promise—if I give you one?"
"About what, Agnes?"
"My baby. You—you're not going to let it stay there? You're—"
"I hardly know what to do. I thought after you were better, I'd—"
"I'm better now." She tried to rise. "I'm better—see? I've more strength. You could leave me alone. I—I want you to take my baby."
"Where?"
"Where she can sleep in peace—in hallowed ground. I—I want a priest for her. Tell him that I baptized her Helena."