"Yes, she would be very hard with me."

"Do you mean you would rather risk it here with--with me, than go back,
and face her?"

"Yes, even that," she replied soberly. "I have courage to fight it out
here, but not there. I know what it will mean if I go back--reproaches,
gossip, ostracism--all the petty meannesses of a small town. I loathe
the very thought. I am strong again, and I will not go. It is between
God and me, this decision; between God and me." She drooped her head,
hiding her face upon her arms, her shoulders trembling. "You--you may
despise me; you may think me the lowest of the low, but I--I am going to
stay here."

I sat in silence, amazed, puzzled, gazing across at her, my face sober,
my hands clinched.

"You actually mean you dare risk yourself here--with me?"

"With your help; with you as a friend to talk to--yes."

I drew in my breath sharply, my forehead beaded with perspiration.

"But stop and think what I am," I urged recklessly. "A mere hobo."

She raised her face, the flushed cheeks wet, the brown eyes glowing
indignantly.

"No," she said earnestly. "You are not that; you are a man."