The girl made some excuse and told a long and rambling story, but blushed to the roots of her hair when given the money.
Imploringly she said, “You will never tell him, will you?”
“No,” replied the kindly woman; “mind you keep the money safe. You may want it some day.”
Some hours went by. The manageress was pondering over the girl and her reticence, over the cheque and its mystery, when a servant rushed in asking her to come to the kitchen at once, as something dreadful had happened. She flew. There on the floor, with blood streaming from her head, lay the little kitchenmaid. Near her, sullen, stern, and menacing, stood the chef. At once the manageress ordered that the girl should be carried to her room and forbade the husband to enter. Then she sent for him to the office and asked for an explanation. But he gave none, except that his subordinate had cheeked him, so he hit her rather harder than he meant to do and stunned her. A blow against the oven door had caused the bleeding. Such was his story. Very different was that of the girl.
As she recovered consciousness, she moaned, “Save me!” and as her senses became more acute, she begged, “Don’t let him come near me.”
“Are you afraid of him?” asked her protectress.
“Yes, madam, mortally afraid; he will kill me. Do not let him come near me,” she implored in agony of mind.
“What happened?” persisted the manageress.
“Somehow he found out I had that cheque and wanted me to give it to him, but I would not and came to you. For it was all I had in the world, and I wanted it to get away and leave him.”
“To leave him? But you have only been married a month.”