"Yes, miss. Do you remember saying to me that night you and I had been sitting in the porch, and father had come home drunk—'May God help you, Salome'? I think you saw God was the only One who could help me; and I want to remind you of those words of yours, because maybe He's the only One who can help you too! Why, how dark it's getting think, miss, we had better go."
She reached for her crutches as she spoke, and swung herself out of the pew into the aisle. Margaret followed her silently through the west door into the churchyard. It was nearly dark, for it was September now, and the evenings were shortening fast; but whilst they lingered at the churchyard gate, the edge of the moon appeared in the eastern horizon, and slowly sailed upwards into the cloudless sky, illuminating the old grey church, surrounded with the graves of the quiet dead, and shedding its pale light on the little village and the broad surface of the peaceful sea.
"How beautiful!" cried Margaret. "It is the harvest moon, so father said last night. But, Salome, it is late for you to be out alone. Shall I walk part of the way home with you?"
"Oh, no, thank you, miss! I shall be perfectly safe. Besides, it's quite light now the moon has risen. Good night, miss."
"Good night, Salome."
Margaret went back to Greystone in a very thoughtful frame of mind. She considered that her friend was not half so depressed as she herself would have been under similar circumstances, not reflecting that Salome's trouble had come upon her by slow degrees. It had taken five years to change Josiah Petherick from a sober, God-fearing man into the desperate drunkard who had turned his only child out-doors last night.
Meanwhile, Salome, as she swung herself down the hill, wondered what could be amiss with Miss Margaret. She had grown deeply attached to the pretty, fair-haired girl, who had, from the first time they had met, treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration. She had given her several lessons in the art of knitting, and the lessons had given pleasure to teacher and pupil alike; and both were much interested in the progression of the sock which Margaret was rather laboriously making under the other's instructions.
The "Crab and Cockle" was lit up brightly as Salome passed by, and she sighed as she heard the hoarse murmur of voices within, for she imagined her father to be there; but great was her surprise on reaching home, to find him in the little yard at the back of the cottage bathing his face at the pump. When he came into the kitchen, she noticed not only that he was intoxicated, but that he had a cut on his cheek, and one eye was turning black. She asked no questions, however, for she saw he was in one of his worst moods; so she lit the lamp in silence, and proceeded to set the supper on the table. Presently, he remarked that he had quarrelled with someone, and they had come to blows.
"'Twas Silas Moyle—" he was beginning, when, in her surprise, she interrupted him.
"Silas Moyle!" she echoed, for the baker was a steady, peace-loving man.