be Hurd's sister, a helpless woman, with a face swollen by
crying, who seemed to be afraid to come into the cottage, and afraid to
go near her sister-in-law. Marcella gave her money, and sent her for
some eggs to the neighbouring shop, then told her to come back in half
an hour and take charge. She was an incapable, but there was nothing
better to be done. "Where is Miss Harden?" she asked the woman. The
answer was that ever since the news came to the village the rector and
his sister had been with Mrs. Westall and Charlie Dyne's mother. Mrs.
Westall had gone into fit after fit; it had taken two to hold her, and
Charlie's mother, who was in bed recovering from pneumonia, had also
been very bad.

Again Marcella's heart contracted with rage rather than pity. Such wrack
and waste of human life, moral and physical! for what? For the
protection of a hateful sport which demoralised the rich and their
agents, no less than it tempted and provoked the poor!

When she had fed and physically comforted the children, she went and
knelt down beside Mrs. Hurd, who still lay with closed eyes in
heavy-breathing stupor.

"Dear Mrs. Hurd," she said, "I want you to drink this tea and eat
something."

The half-stupefied woman signed refusal. But Marcella insisted.

"You have got to fight for your husband's life," she said firmly, "and
to look after your children. I must go in a very short time, and before
I go you must tell me all that you can of this business. Hurd would tell
you to do it. He knows and you know that I am to be trusted. I want to
save him. I shall get a good lawyer to help him. But first you must take
this--and then you must talk to me."

The habit of obedience to a "lady," established long ago in years of
domestic service, held. The miserable wife submitted to be fed, looked
with forlorn wonder at the children round the fire, and then sank back
with a groan. In her tension of feeling Marcella for an impatient moment
thought her a poor creature. Then with quick remorse she put her arms
tenderly round her, raised the dishevelled grey-streaked head on her
shoulder, and stooping, kissed the marred face, her own lips quivering.

"You are not alone," said the girl with her whole soul. "You shall never
be alone while I live. Now tell me."

She made the white and gasping woman sit up in a corner of the settle,
and she herself got a stool and established herself a little way off,
frowning, self-contained, and determined to