"Get out!" repeated Dick sullenly. He gave a lunge toward Roger and Roger met him with a quick undercut on the jaw that laid Dick flat. He dragged him down the trail to the seed and tool shack, where he turned the heavy button on the door. Then he ran into the house. Charley lay on the floor, her hair in disorder about her. Roger, with an oath, stooped over her, then ran for a cup of water and bathed her face. In a moment she opened her eyes. Roger's own eyes were black with excitement but he met her puzzled gaze with a twisted smile. "There you are, Charley! Where are you hurt?" She did not answer but struggled to rise and Roger putting an arm under her shoulder helped her to her feet where she leaned dizzily against him, for a moment, shoulder to shoulder. "Where's Felicia, Roger?" "Safe with Elsa at the Plant. Sit down here on the couch, Charley. Where did Dick strike you?" "He--he--where is he, Roger?" clinging suddenly to Roger's hand as he laid her back on the couch. "Locked in the tool house. Charley, you _must_ tell me what happened so I can help you." "Why--he--he pushed me backward and I must have hit something when I fell. The back of my head is very sore and my head aches terribly--and I'm a little sick at my stomach." "Let me see your head," said Roger peremptorily. He parted the mass of bronze brown hair, wondering even in his anger and pity at its softness and thickness. It was not difficult to locate the great lump at the base of the skull. "He might have killed you if it hadn't been for your hair. The skin isn't broken. Be still, Charley, till I get a basin of water and a towel." He was back in a moment and sitting down on the edge of the couch, he attempted to bathe the swelling. But Charley groaned in agony at the first touch, so he gave that up and bathed her face and wrist awkwardly but very gently. "I guess it's my turn to say 'Poor Child,'" Roger murmured. The quick tears sprang to Charley's eyes. At this moment Dick gave an incoherent shout. Charley gripped Roger's hand. "It's all right," he said. "He can't get out, the whelp!" "Roger! Don't hurt him. Promise me you won't hurt him!" "Hurt him!" Roger burst forth. "How can you be so foolish! He ought to be beaten within an inch of his life. He's gotten drunk on cologne!" "Roger, he's never been this bad before. He's been growing slowly better all these years. He never struck me before." "And you've been living with a drunkard all these years who might have killed you. You knew this, yet you let little Felicia come to you. How could you do it?" Roger paced up and down the floor. Charley looked at him piteously, but he went on, his voice growing louder. "You must know that a periodic drunkard is the worst kind and almost never cured. I thought you were unafraid of truth, but you've been living just like a sentimental woman, after all."