"Yes, he's my minister. He knows all about me. He told me to do my best, but if the time came when I just couldn't bear it another minute I might go. He said he couldn't help me run away, because—because——"
"Certaintly he couldn't!" said Martha.
"But he said, if ever I had to do it, the Lord would raise up some one who could. Mother's never liked me. I've not been happy a minute since my father died. He wasn't happy. He had no peace of his life. He used to tell mother she'd get her come-uppance some day, and she's got it now, for Buller, that's her second husband, he beats her. He's got her money and mine too, what father left us, and he's afraid I'll law him, now I'm of age and can. I tried to run off yesterday, but he caught me and took away my clothes, and locked me in my room. I had some money I'd got hold of. 'Twas my own—and when he caught me, and he and mother stripped me and locked me up, I held on to it, all through, though he beat me black and blue with his belt-strap."
She spread her poor little trembling palm, disclosing a fistful of crumpled bills.
"See? And here's where he beat me—and she stood by and let him!"
As she spoke, the girl drew back the coarse night-dress from her breast, displaying shoulders and back seamed across with cruel wales.
Martha drew in her breath shudderingly, shielding her eyes with her elbow in a quick, instinctive defensive gesture.
"I'd know you speak the truth without—that!" she said.
"After they left me, and locked me in—when I could think—I remembered what Mr. Wedall said about the Lord raising up help for me, and it made me mad, for there was no one to lift a hand for me. And then, all at once, somehow, you came into my mind. I saw you help a dog once, nobody else would touch. D'you remember? All the rest were afraid. They said he might be mad. But you said, 'Of course he ain't mad.' And you took him up, and took him home, and—you weren't afraid."
"No, I'm not afraid," said Martha.