to tell.

"No, no, my dear," she said as she moved to go, "I have no dread of his
blows. I don't suppose he will ever strike me again. Ah, there's the
worst of it; he's got away, away beyond blows. I wish sometimes he'd
brain me, if only that would stop his secretly watching me.

"If he'd never gone beyond blows, I would have died before I would
have told; not for meekness, dearie, nor even for love,--of you, or my
child, or any one,--but just for pride and shame. But to know, every
day and hour, that I'm watched, and that every path I tread is full of
traps,--there's what's killing me. And I could let it kill me and never
tell, if being killed were all. But I tell you because--Oh, my poor
little mother dearie, do I wear you out, saying the same things over
and over?

"This is all I ask you to remember: that my reason for telling you is to
save the honor of my husband himself, and of you, dear heart, and of--of
my child, you know. For, mother, every innocent thing I do is being
woven into a net of criminating evidence. Sooner or later it's certain
to catch me fast and give me over, you and me and--and baby, to public
shame."

As they went toward the arbor door Isabel warily hushed, but her mother
said: "There's no one to overhear, honey-blossom; Minnie's at your house
with Sarah."

But neither was there more to be said. The daughter shut herself out,
and stood alone on the doorstep pondering what she had done. For she had
acted as well as spoken, and, without knowledge of Leonard's move, was
calling Godfrey home herself. Her mother was to send the dispatch in the
morning.

[Illustration: "But to know every day and hour that I'm watched."]

So standing and distressfully musing, she heard the click of the
Byingtons' door as Ruth left Leonard on the porch. But her thought went
after Arthur. Where was he? That he had honestly gone where he had said
he was going she painfully doubted. She stirred to move on, but had not
taken a step when a feminine cry of terror set her blood leaping and
sent her flying down the arbor, and where the two paths crossed she and
Leonard met at such a speed that only by seizing her with both his hands
did he avoid trampling her down. The scream was repeated again and
again.

"It's Minnie!" cried Isabel as they sprang down the path to the mill
pond; and Leonard, outrunning her, called back,--

"We'll get her out! She's not gone under!"

The next moment he, and then she, were on the sc