Martha drew in her breath shudderingly, shielding her eyes with her elbow in a quick, instinctive defensive gesture. "I’d know you speak the truth without—_that_!" she said. "After they left me, and locked me in—when I could _think_—I remembered what Mr. Wedall said about the Lord raising up help for me, and it made me mad, for there was no one to lift a hand for me. And then, all at once, somehow, you came into my mind. I saw you help a dog once, nobody else would touch. D’you remember? All the rest were afraid. They said he might be mad. But you said, ’Of course he ain’t mad.’ And you took him up, and took him home, and—you weren’t afraid." "No, I’m not afraid," said Martha. "After you came into my mind I never rested till I found a way to get out. I waited till everything was quiet. They’d gone to bed. Then I managed it—through the window—down the grapevine trellis—I——" Martha made her way to the corner cupboard. "I’ll fix you up with arnica an’ water inside and out," she explained. "An’, while I’m doin’ it, you tell me what you’ve planned." "Nothing. I’ve planned nothing. Buller says I’m looney. Perhaps I am. I can’t seem to think." "Have you got any folks anywheres? I mean, on your father’s side?" "I’ve an uncle. Father’s brother. But he lives in Montreal." "Montreal! Where would that be, I wonder?" "In Canada. Up north." Mrs. Slawson bound on her soothing compresses in silence. Suddenly she paused, alert, listening. Then, quick as a flash, she caught her visitor by the sleeve, drew her back in to the entry and pushed her into a small closet under the stairs. "Hush! I hear a horse. Don’t you breathe till I come an’ tell you." A moment later she was lying in bed, as still as though she, like Sam, were fast asleep and dreaming. Presently Sam stirred, sat up drowsily, and listened. "Say, mother, you asleep?" No answer. A voice from below in the garden called up hoarsely: "Hullo, there!" "What’s wanted?" demanded Sam. "I’m Buller, from Milby’s Corners. My wife’s daughter has wandered off in the night. I’m out hunting for her, to take her home. She ain’t all there in the upper story. I thought, maybe, she’d come in here. The last I saw of her, she was making this way. She’s in her night-shift. I could see her plain as day, far ahead of me." Sam was so obviously but just-awakened, that Buller from Milby’s Corners turned his horse’s head, as if to make a quick departure, when Mrs. Slawson, yawning, leaned over the rail of the sleeping-porch and spoke.