"Yes, ma'am,—I would," said the girl promptly. "Fer as that goes, I TOLE him he lied."
Rachel started to say something, then closed her lips tightly and fell to staring out over the river. The girl eyed her for a moment and then went on:
"You needn't be skeert of me ever tellin' anybody whut he said to me. Hit wouldn't be right to spread a lie like thet, Mis' Gwyn. You—"
"I think they are waiting for us, Moll," interrupted Rachel, suddenly holding out her hand to the girl. "Thank you. Come, give me your hand. We will go back to them, hand in hand, my girl."
Moll stared at her in sheer astonishment.
"You—you don't want to hold my hand in yours, do you?" she murmured slowly, incredulously.
"I do. You will find me a good friend,—and you will need good friends, Moll."
Dumbly the girl held out her hand. It was clasped firmly by Rachel Carter. They were half-way up the bank when Moll held back and tried to withdraw her hand.
"I—I can't let you,—why, ma'am, that's the hand I—I held the knife in," she cried, agitatedly.
Rachel gripped the hand more firmly. "I know it is, Moll," she said calmly.