“How do you feel now, madam?” asked Miranda, gently.

“Who are you?” said Moll, in reply, after a moment’s pause.

“Miranda—­Miranda Searle, the wife of Philip,” she added, trembling at the remembrance of the woman’s treatment at her husband’s hands.

Molly raised herself with an effort, and sat upon the floor, looking at Miranda, while she laughed with a loud and hollow sound.

“Philip’s wife, eh?  And you love him, don’t you?  Well, dreams can’t last forever.”

“Don’t you feel strong enough to get up and lie upon the bed?” asked Miranda, soothingly, for she was uncomfortable tinder the strange glare that the woman fixed upon her.

“I’m well enough,” said Moll.  “Where’s Philip?”

“Indeed, I do not know.  I am very sorry, ma’am, that—­that”—­

“Never mind.  Give me a glass of water.”

Miranda hastened to comply, and Moll swallowed the water, and remained silent for a moment.

“Shan’t I go for assistance?” asked Miranda, who was anxious to put an end to this painful interview, and was also distressed about her husband’s absence.  “There’s no one except ourselves in the house, but I can go to the farmer’s house near by.”

“Not for the world,” interrupted Moll, taking her by the arm.  “I’m well enough.  Here, let me lean on you.  That’s it.  I’ll sit on the rocking-chair.  Thank you.  Just bind my head up, will you?  Is it an ugly cut?” she asked, as Miranda, having procured some linen, carefully bandaged the wounded part.

“Oh, yes!  It’s very bad.  Does it pain you much, ma’am?”

“Never mind.  There, that will do.  Now sit down there.  Don’t be afraid of me.  I ain’t a-going to hurt you.  It’s only the cut that makes me look so ugly.”

“Oh, no!  I am not at all afraid, ma’am,” said Miranda, shuddering in spite of herself.

“You are a sweet-looking girl,” said Moll, fixing her haggard, but yet beautiful eyes upon the fragile form beside her.  “It’s a pity you must be unhappy.  Has that fellow been unkind to you?”

“What fellow madam?”

“Philip.”

“He is my husband, madam,” replied Miranda, mildly, but with the slightest accent of displeasure.

“He is, eh?  Hum!  You love him dearly, don’t you?”

Miranda blushed, and asked: 

“Do you know my husband?”

“Know him!  If you knew him as well, it would be better for you.  You’ll know him well enough before long.  You come from Virginia, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You must go back there.”

“If Philip wishes it.”

“I tell you, you must go at once—­to-day.  I will give you money, if you have none.  And you must never speak of what has happened in this house.  Do you understand me?”

“But Philip”—­

“Forget Philip.  You must never see him any more.  Why should you want to?  Don’t you know that he’s a brute, and will beat you as he beat me, if you stay with him.  Why should you care about him?”