Drawing his flask from his pocket, he poured out some raw spirit shakily, his left arm supporting the girl's head in the crook of the elbow. He administered a mouthful. She gasped, and refused more; but she had swallowed it. He waited a moment, with outward composure, and then said quietly:
"Millie, d'you know me?"
She started, and began to struggle in his hold.
"It's Bert," he said steadily; and to his unfeigned and stupefying astonishment, her struggles ceased.
"I thought—'twas Otis," she whispered, so low that he could hardly hear.
"Well, it's not," he murmured, trembling; "it's me. Listen! You've been cruel knocked about—d'you hear?"
"Yes; the—old—woman—"
"I know, my girl, I know! I got up through the roof, an' fetched you away. You're safe now; there's only me. D'you understand?"
There came an almost incredible whisper: "They said you'd gone away ... to the cross-roads..."
One short laugh of triumph escaped him.