“There is nothing the matter with me,” the girl answered earnestly.  “I assure you there is not.  My mind is as sound as yours.”

“That’s what they all says,” said the ex-warder with a chuckle.

“But it is so.  I cannot stay in that house longer.  I cannot, Mr. Stevens, I cannot!  It is haunted, and my guardian will murder me.  He means to.  I read it in his eyes.  He as good as tried this morning.  To die without one word to those I love—­without any explanation of what has passed—­that would give a sting to death.”

“Well, if this ain’t outragis!” cried the one-eyed man; “perfectly outragis!  Going to murder you, says you!  What’s he a-goin’ to do that for?”

“God knows!  He hates me for some reason.  I have never gone against his wishes, save in one respect, and in that I can never obey him, for it is a matter in which he has no right to command.”

“Quite so!” said Stevens, winking his one eye.  “I knows the feeling myself, cuss me, but I do!  ‘Thine for once and thine for never,’ as the song says.”

“Why won’t you let me pass?” pleaded Kate.  “You may have had daughters of your own.  What would you do if they were treated as I have been?  If I had money you should have it, but I have none.  Do, do let me go!  God will reward you for it.  Perhaps when you are on your last bed of sickness the memory of this one good deed may outweigh all the evil that you have done.”

“Lor’, don’t she speak!” said Stevens, appealing confidentially to the nearest tree.  “It’s like a dictionary.”

“And you won’t lose by it in this life,” the girl added eagerly.  “See, here is my watch and my chain.  You shall have that if you will let me through?”

“Let’s see it.”  He opened it and examined it critically.  “Eighteen carat—­it’s only a Geneva, though.  What can you expect for a Geneva?”

“And you shall have fifty pounds when I get back to my friends.  Do let me pass, good Mr. Stevens, for my guardian may return at any moment.”

“See here, miss,” Stevens said solemnly; “dooty is dooty, and if every hair of your ‘ead was tagged wi’ a jewel, and you offered to make me your barber, I wouldn’t let you through that gate.  As to this ’ere watch, if so be as you would like to write a line to your friends, I’ll post it for you at Bedsworth in exchange for it, though it be only a Geneva.”

“You good, kind man!” cried Kate, all excitement and delight.  “I have a pencil in my pocket.  What shall I do for paper?” She looked eagerly round and spied a small piece which lay among the brushwood.  With a cry of joy she picked it out.  It was very coarse and very dirty, but she managed to scrawl a few lines upon it, describing her situation and asking for aid.  “I will write the address upon the back,” she said.  “When you get to Bedsworth you must buy an envelope and ask the post-office people to copy the address on to it.”