“I want to know where you are taking me,” she said presently, and came to a halt.

“To a place where you will be safe.”

“That isn’t answering the question.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes, and then you can see for yourself, Margaret.  Cannot you trust me, girl?  I’m not going to hurt you.  I love you, and I’ll do all I can to help you.  Come!” And again he made her move on.

At last they came in sight of a tumbled-down cottage on the edge of what had once been a clearing, but which was now overgrown with weeds and brushwood.  As they came up, Margaret’s strength gave out, and suddenly she sank down on her knees.

“All in, are you?” he said, not unkindly, and, stooping, he picked her up bodily.  She tried to resist, but could not, and he took her into the cottage and placed her on a couch.

“I’ll get you a nurse,” he said, noting her extreme paleness.  “You need one.”

“A—­a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and then closed her eyes, for she was too far gone to say more, or to make a move.

He was as good as his word, and when she roused up once more an old woman was at Margaret’s side.  She had administered some sort of drug—­what, the girl did not know—­and it had put her into a sound sleep.

When Margaret looked around again, she was surprised to see that it was morning.  She tried to think, but her mind was almost a blank.  Outside of the broken window a wild bird was singing gayly.  She looked around.  The old woman was not in sight.

She had been put to bed, and sat there, trying to think for several minutes.  Then she gave a low call, and the old woman appeared in the doorway.

“Come awake, have ye, miss?” said she.

“Where am I?” asked Margaret feebly.

“You’re safe enough, never fear.”

Margaret said no more and the woman went about some little work.  Presently the girl arose and dressed herself.  She felt much stronger than when at the home of Martha Sampson, in spite of what she had experienced in running away.  She sank down in a rocking chair, to think matters over.

How far was she from Sidham?  She knew she must have come a long distance, but could not tell if it was five miles or fifty.  She looked out of the window, but the scenery was strange to her.

As she sat there she reviewed what had passed, her mind becoming clearer as she thought.  She remembered the scene at the inquest, and remembered how she had fainted, and how Raymond had supported her and taken her to the nurse’s house.  Then she remembered how the coroner’s jury had accused her of the terrible crime, and she gave a deep shudder.

“Poor, dear father,” she murmured.  “Who could have been so wicked as to take your life?”

An hour went by, and she prepared to leave the cottage, when a shadow fell across the window, and Matlock Styles appeared.  He spoke a few low words to the old woman, and the latter walked away.