"Don't be so silly. It makes me feel as if I'd got the rope round my own neck to hear you talk. You don't know what hanging is--I do! My--a relative of mine was hanged, he was; and my mother, she's told me, often and often, that the last three months she was carrying me she used to wake every night feeling that the rope was round her neck, and she used to have to get it off quick for fear it choked her. It happened just before I came--see? And before I was born she used to wonder if I should feel it because she did--and I have; ever since I was a small kid I have; and I shall again to-night. I lay I shall; I shall be as nearly hanged to-night as I can be without being quite. And that's why I say to you, don't be silly--you don't know what it feels like to be hanged." The speaker paused; she would have laid her hand on the other's arm, only Dorothy shrank back, shivering. She noted the action, commenting on it in a fashion of her own. "You needn't be afraid of me, miss; you needn't really. There's no harm about me; not a morsel. I couldn't help what happened, it was before my time; and I can't help feeling like that--can I?" She waited, as if for an answer; when none came she went on: "What I was going to say is--I'm told that Miss Frances is a friend of yours!"
"We--we were at school together."
"Were you now? Well, don't you think that by waiting for the police to take you here you'll be doing her a good turn, or her mother, or her father, nor yet none of them. You did 'em a bad enough turn by coming here at all; you don't want to make it worse, as you would do if the police was to take you in this house. It'll be all about it in the papers--how you was staying here, and how they was friends of yours, and no end; and gentlefolks don't like to have it known that they're friends of such as you; it gives the place a bad name; I shouldn't be surprised if nobody never came near it again--see?"
Dorothy did see. The idea had been in her head from the first; the speaker expressed it in a form which added to its force.
"You're quite right; that's what I've felt all along; I'll go at once."
She moved towards the door, as if with the intention of putting her words into instant execution. The girl caught her by the arm, this time before Dorothy had a chance to prevent her.
"Where are you going? What do you think you're doing?"
"I am going to leave the house. Please--please let go of my arm."
The girl only tightened her grip, until the pressure hurt.
"What, down the stairs and through the front door--is that the way you're going? Why, you might as well stay where you are as do that."