"That is all right," I continued, my voice shaking. "I understand how you feel. Anyhow you 've made a new man out of me; maybe the stuff is n't much, but there is a soul in it somewhere, and you 've given that soul something to get a grip on. That was all I needed, just to get my teeth set. But what about you? This is no fit place for your kind—you better go home to your mother."
She shook her head with decision.
"Why not? is she hard?"
"Yes, she would be very hard with me."
"Do you mean you would rather risk it here with—with me, than go back, and face her?"
"Yes, even that," she replied soberly. "I have courage to fight it out here, but not there. I know what it will mean if I go back—reproaches, gossip, ostracism—all the petty meannesses of a small town. I loathe the very thought. I am strong again, and I will not go. It is between God and me, this decision; between God and me." She drooped her head, hiding her face upon her arms, her shoulders trembling. "You—you may despise me; you may think me the lowest of the low, but I—I am going to stay here."
I sat in silence, amazed, puzzled, gazing across at her, my face sober, my hands clinched.
"You actually mean you dare risk yourself here—with me?"
"With your help; with you as a friend to talk to—yes."
I drew in my breath sharply, my forehead beaded with perspiration.