'Let me go! Let me go!' she pleaded desperately.

'Who is't that's bin puttin' ye into this distress?' His voice sounded
loud and harsh.

'No one, no one. I canna tell ye, Mr. Garstin.... It's no one,' she
protested weakly. The white, twisted look on his face frightened her.

'My God!' he burst out, gripping her wrist, 'an' a proper soft fool
ye've made o' me. Who is't, I tell ye? Who's t' man?'

'Ye're hurtin' me. Let me go. I canna tell ye.'

'And ye're fond o' him?'

'No, no. He's a wicked, sinful man. I pray God I may never set eyes on
him again. I told him so.'

'But ef he's got ye into trouble, he'll hev t' marry ye,' he persisted
with a brutal bitterness.

'I will not. I hate him!' she cried fiercely.

'But is he _willin'_ t' marry ye?'

'I don't know ... I don't care ... he said so before he went
away ... But I'd kill myself sooner than live with him.'

He let her hands fall and stepped back from her. She could only see his