"No, they're not. Oh, you don't understand! Please trust me; I'll explain."
Her words came quick and broken, and Harry realized that the girl must have run a great way. No longer questioning or waiting, Harry followed her obediently. Turning down a side street, they came after a while to a place where the pavement ended and an old road curved off. A little beyond this stood a group of old buildings, stone and brick, the deserted roundhouse and shops of a past era. Into one of these Isita led the way, and Harry heard from the darkness the familiar nicker of Rock and Rye.
"All right, boys," she began reassuringly, when a voice said:
"Please be quiet. You might be overheard."
Mrs. Biane stood beside her.
"No, don't ask me! I can't say a word!" she exclaimed in a low voice of distress. "'Sita here'll tell you the hull of it by and by. Only hurry and git off, you two. I want you should take my gurl with you, Miss Holliday. I'll be more grateful to you than I can tell. She can come back to me some day when it's safer, happier. There, deary, I know," she said soothingly as the young girl threw herself, weeping, upon her mother's breast.
For a minute Mrs. Biane held Isita to her; then, with a last kiss, she unlocked her child's arms and put her gently aside.
"I know she's safe with you, Miss Holliday," she said as she tucked Isita into the wagon beside Harry. "You're a good girl and you've been a real friend to her—to me; and you can help her to grow up good. There, go! Don't drive past the station. He's liable to be round there. And hurry!"
She led the way to the road, stared toward the town, listening for a moment, and then walked swiftly away without a backward glance.
New and rude emotions surged through Harry as whipping up the horses, she drove quickly out from the town. Sympathy for Isita, sympathy for that stricken mother, and humbly grateful joy for herself mingled in almost painful force. It relieved her to put her arm round Isita and draw the frail body close against her own.