"I ran away with him," repeated the woman; "and, if I could speak now with a voice that all the world could hear, I would advise all girls to take warning by me, and rather break their hearts at home than run away from it." Paler and paler grew the beautiful young face; and then Hyacinth suddenly noticed that one of the woman's hands lay almost useless on the grass. She raised it gently and saw that it was terribly wounded and bruised. Her heart ached at the sight. "Does it pain you much?" she inquired. The woman laughed--a laugh more terrible by far than any words could have been. "I am used to pain," she said. "I put that hand on my husband's shoulder last night to beg him to stay at home and not to drink any more. He took a thick-knotted stick and beat it; and yet, poor hand, it was not harming him." Hyacinth shuddered. The woman went on, "We had a terrible quarrel last night. He vowed that he would come back in the morning and murder me." "Then why not go away? Why not seek a safe refuge?" She laughed again--the terrible, dreary laugh. "He would find me; he will kill me some day. I know it; but I do not care. I should not have run away from him." "Why not go home again?" asked Hyacinth. "Ah, no--there is no returning--no undoing--no going back." Hyacinth raised the poor bruised hand. "I am afraid it is broken," she said gently. "Let me bind it for you." She took out her handkerchief; it was a gossamer trifle--fine cambric and lace--quite useless for the purpose required. She turned to Claude and asked for his. The request was a small one, but the whole afterpart of her life was affected by it. She did not notice that Claude's handkerchief was marked with his name in full--"Claude Lennox." She bound carefully the wounded hand. "Now," she said, "be advised by us; go away--don't let your husband find you." "Go to London," cried Claude eagerly; "there is always work to be done and money to be earned there. See--I will give you my address. You can write to me; and I will ask my aunt or my mother to give you employment." He tore a leaf from his pocket-book and wrote on it; "Claude Lennox, 200 Belgrave Square, London." He looked very handsome, very generous and noble, as he gave the folded note to the woman, with two sovereigns inside it. "Remember," he said, "that I promise my mother will find you some work if you will apply to us." She thanked him, but no ray of hope came to her poor face. She did not seem to think it strange that they were there--that it was unusual at that early hour to see such as they were out in the fields. "Heaven bless you!" she said gratefully. "A dying woman's blessing will not hurt you." "You will not die," said Claude cheerily; "you will be all right in time. Do you belong to this part?" "No," she replied; "we are quite strangers here. I do not even know the name of the place. We were going to walk to Liverpool; my husband thought he should get better wages there."