lot and out
of the gate, the ball and chain closing it behind her with a clang.

Once on the street Martha paused with her brain on fire. The lie which
Lucy had told frightened her. She knew why she had told it, and she
knew, too, what harm would come to her bairn if that kind of gossip got
abroad in the village. She was no longer the gentle, loving nurse with
the soft caressing hand, but a woman of purpose. The sudden terror
aroused in her heart had the effect of tightening her grip and bracing
her shoulders as if the better to withstand some expected shock.

She forgot Meg; forgot her errand to the post-office; forgot
everything, in fact, except the safety of the child she loved. That
Lucy had neglected and even avoided her of late, keeping out of her way
even when she was in the house, and that she had received only cool
indifference in place of loyal love, had greatly grieved her, but it
had not lessened the idolatry with which she worshipped her bairn.
Hours at a time she had spent puzzling her brain trying to account for
the change which had come over the girl during two short years of
school. She had until now laid this change to her youth, her love of
admiration, and had forgiven it. Now she understood it; it was that boy
Bart. He had a way with him. He had even ingratiated himself into Miss
Jane's confidence. And now this young girl had fallen a victim to his
wiles. That Lucy should lie to her, of all persons, and in so calm and
self-possessed a manner; and about Bart, of all men--sent a shudder
through her heart, that paled her cheek and tightened her lips. Once
before she had consulted Jane and had been rebuffed. Now she would
depend upon herself.

Retracing her steps and turning sharply to the right, she ordered Meg
home in a firm voice, watched the dog slink off and then walked
straight down a side road to Captain Nat Holt's house. That the captain
occupied a different station in life from herself did not deter her.
She felt at the moment that the honor of the Cobden name lay in her
keeping. The family had stood by her in her trouble; now she would
stand by them.

The captain sat on his front porch reading a newspaper. He was in his
shirt-sleeves and bareheaded, his straight hair standing straight out
like the bristles of a shoe-brush. Since the death of his wife a few
years before he had left the service, and now spent most of his days at
home, tending his garden and enjoying his savings. He was a man