"You love him, don't you?"
"No, no! But—he's bad now, and—and probably drunk. He'll kill you, McGill. He's bad, I tell you—tough—don't you understand? He's bad, and he's made me bad, too, that's why I'm here. He's not worth it, McGill; neither am I!"
"You can't stay in Arcadia, neither of you. I got out of Ophir and let you alone, but this is my town; I can't leave it."
"We'll go," she cried, wringing her hands; "anyhow, I'll go, if you'll help me. But I'll need help—Oh, God! Yes, I'll need help! You don't know—You and he can settle things afterward."
"You want to leave him?"
"I've tried to break away, I've been trying ever since that first day in Ophir, but he won't let me. I kept trying—until I learned better; now I'm afraid. He's broken me, Dan, but you'll help me to leave him, won't you?"
After a time the husband answered, more to himself than to her: "I guess I'm even with you, anyhow. You've gone to hell, hand in hand with him. I won't interfere—not that way. I s'pose he beats you?"
She nodded, and saw his bearded face twitch. "Yes, and he'll make me like these other women—you understand? I've fought until I'm tired, worn out. I'm in a trap, McGill, and—I'm afraid—afraid for the little soul I have left."
"You sprung the trap," he told her, bitterly.
But his wife had seen a way to freedom and clutched at it with desperate persistence.