“But—Lucy Miller?” the unfortunate girl asked falteringly.
“I came by her house, and her father and mother wouldn’t let her come. They are more down on you even than my mother. I think it’s a shame. Lucy cried and begged, but it was no use.”
Fair sat silent and frightened. What was she to do?
She looked up presently, and said timidly:
“Maybe your mother would let me come and stay at your house? I would pay her whatever she asked as soon as I got my wages.”
Alice Stevens put her arms around her friend, and hid her reddening cheeks against her shoulder.
“Oh, Fair, I wish she would, but”—with a half sob—“I asked her, and she said no, that Carl Bernicci might prosecute her for harboring his disobedient wife. Don’t blame me, dear; it wasn’t my fault.”
“No, dear, I don’t blame you. Give my love to Lucy. I thank you both,” Fair answered, with a sort of apathetic despair, and, after a little, she told Alice of all that had happened last night.
“You see how it is. I am always in danger from him, yet I cannot find one friend to stand by me in my trouble,” she cried bitterly.
“I am so sorry! I only wish I might stay,” sobbed Alice Stevens, crying out of sympathy.