"When her later husbands had abandoned her." McCall laughed savagely, turning away.
She started up on the pallet, clenching her bony, dirty hands: "There were faults on both sides. I never would have been the woman I am if you had loved me. What will you do with me now?"
There was a dead silence in the cell, broken only by the heavy breathing of the woman. McCall stood dumb, looking first at Catharine and then at his wife.
"This is what he will do," said Kitty's clear, quiet tones. "You shall be washed and dressed, and taken home as his wife, to live or die as suits God's will."
"Never," muttered McCall.
"How soon can she leave this—this place?" she said, turning as if he had not spoken to Pollard.
"As soon as she is able to be moved. But," hesitating, with a doubtful look at McCall, "is that plan best?"
"Why, she's his wife!" with her innocent eyes wide. "He has no right to desert her. She will die if she is not properly cared for," turning to McCall.
"Do you stay with me: don't leave me," holding Kitty's sleeve. "If you would nurse me, I should get well."
"It is impossible that the lady should nurse you," said Pollard.