Her hair was disheveled, her dress disordered, the hands she tremblingly held out bore discolored marks. Wade led her into the seclusion of the willow trail.
"Oh, Ben!... He fought me--like--a beast!" she panted.
"Collie, you needn't tell me more," said Wade, gently. "Go up to Wils. Tell him."
"But I must tell you. I can bear--no more.... He fought me--hurt me--and when dad heard us--and came--Jack lied.... Oh, the dog!... Ben, his father believed--when Jack swore he was only mad--only trying to shake me--for my indifference and scorn.... But, my God!--Jack meant...."
"Collie, go up to Wils," interposed the hunter.
"I want to see Wils. I need to--I must. But I'm afraid.... Oh, it will make things worse!"
"Go!"
She turned away, actuated by more than her will.
"Collie!" came the call, piercingly and strangely after her. Bewildered, startled by the wildness of that cry, she wheeled. But Wade was gone. The shaking of the willows attested to his hurry.