"So then I told him I had better go. I had brought him nothing but trouble, and I wasn't worth it. He was angry with me for saying it. I should never leave him--never--he said--but I must go away then because he had letters to write. And I was just going, when he came after me, and--and--he took me in his arms and carried me up-stairs and laid me on the bed and covered me up warmly. Then he stayed a little while at the foot of the bed looking at me, and saying queer things to himself--and at last he went down-stairs.... All day he has been out and about the farm. He has never spoken to me. The men say he's so strange--they don't like to leave him alone--but he drives them away when they go to speak to him. And when he didn't come in all day, I sat down and wrote to you--" She paused, mechanically running her little hand up and down the front of Marcia's cloak. "I don't know anybody here. John's lots of friends--but they're not my friends--and even when they're sorry for us--they know--what I've done--and they don't want to have much to do with me. You said you'd speak for us to Mr. Edward--and I know you did--Mr. Edward told John so. You've been kinder to me than any one else here. So I just wanted to tell _you_--what I'm going to do. I'm going away--I'm going right away. John won't know, nobody'll know where I'm gone. But I want you to tell Mr. Newbury--and get him and Lord William to be kind to John--as they used to be. He'll get over it--by and by!" Then, straightening herself, she drew herself away. "I'm not going to the Sisterhood!" she said, defiantly. "I'd sooner die! You may tell Mr. Newbury I'll live my own life--and I've got my boy. John won't find me--I'll take care of that. But if I'm not fit for decent people to touch--there's plenty like me. I'll not cringe to anybody--I'll go where I'm welcome. So now you understand, don't you--what I wanted to ask you?" "No indeed I don't," cried Marcia, in distress. "And you won't--you sha'n't do anything so mad! Please--please, be patient!--I'll go again to Mr. Newbury. I shall see him to-morrow!" Mrs. Betts shook her head. "No use--no use. It's the only thing to do for me to take myself off. And no one can stop it. If you were to tell John now, just what I've said, it wouldn't make any difference. He couldn't stop me. I'm going!--that's settled. But _he_ sha'n't go. He's got to take up his work here again. And Mr. Edward must persuade him--and look after him--and watch him. What's their religion good for, if it can't do that? Oh, how I _hate_ their religion!" Her eyes lit up with passion; whatever touch of acting there might have been in her monologue till now, this rang fiercely true: