She put her arm about her mother's shoulders and they went down the narrow staircase together. "It will not cost me a single friend, Viola," remarked Rachel grimly. "I have none to lose. But with you it will be different." "We don't have to stay in the old town," said Viola bravely. "The world is large. We can move on. Just as we used to before we came here to live. Always moving on, we were." Rachel shook her head. They were at the bottom of the stairs. "I will not move on. This is where I intend to live and die. The man I lived for is up yonder in the graveyard. I will not go away and leave him now,--not after all these years. But you, my child, you must move on. You have something else to live for. I have nothing. But I can hold my head up, even here. You will not find it so easy. You will--" "It will be as easy for me as it will for Kenneth Gwynne," broke in the girl. "Wait and see which one of us runs away first. It won't be me." "He will not go away and leave you," said Rachel Carter. Viola gave her a quick, startled look. They were in the kitchen, however, before she spoke. Then it was to say: "Now I understand why I have never been able to think of him as my brother." That, and nothing more; there was an odd, almost frightened expression in her eyes. She got breakfast for her mother, Hattie having been sent down into the town by her mistress immediately upon her return home, ostensibly to make a few purchases but actually for the purpose of getting rid of her. Viola, in relating the story of the morning's events, was careful to avoid using the harshest of Barry's terms, but earnestly embellished the account of Kenny's interference with some rather formidable expressions of her own, putting them glibly into the mouth of her champion. Once her mother interrupted her to inquire: "Did Kenneth actually use those words, Viola? 'Pusillanimous varlet,'--and 'mendacious scalawag'? It does not sound like Kenneth." Viola had the grace to blush guiltily. "No, he didn't. He swore harder than anybody I've ever--" "That's better," said Rachel, somewhat sternly. Later on they sat on the little front porch, where the older woman, with scant recourse to the graphic, narrated the story of Moll Hawk. Pain and horror dwelt in Viola's wide, lovely eyes. "Oh, poor, poor Moll," she murmured at the end of the wretched tale. "She has never known a mother's love, or a mother's care. She has never had a chance." Then Rachel Carter said a strange thing. "When all this is over and she is free, I intend to offer her a home here with me." The girl stared, open-mouthed. "With you? Here with us?" "You will not always be here with me," said her mother. "How can you say such a thing?" with honest indignation. Then quickly: "I know I planned to run off and leave you a little while ago, but that was before I came to know how much you need me."