One swift swoop she made at his face, bringing skin and hair on her nails.  Rosenblatt turned, and crying, “She is mad!  She is mad!” made for the shelter of the cellar, followed by the shouts and jeers of the men standing about.

Raging, at the door Paulina sought entrance, crying, “I was a good woman.  He made me bad.”  Then turning away, she walked slowly to the back of her house and passed behind the neighbouring shack where the man stood waiting her.

With dragging steps she approached, till within touch of him, when, falling down upon her knees in the snow, she put her head upon his feet.

“Get up, fool,” he cried harshly.

She rose and stood with her chin upon her breast.

“My children!” said the man.  “Where are my children?”

She pointed towards the house of her neighbour, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.  “With a neighbour woman,” she said, and turned herself toward him again with head bowed down.

“And yours?” he hissed.

She shuddered violently.

“Speak,” he said in a voice low, calm and terrible.  “Do you wish me to kill you where you stand?”

“Yes,” she said, throwing her shawl over her face, “kill me!  Kill me now!  It will be good to die!”

With a curse, his hand went to his side.  He stood looking at her quietly for a few moments as if deliberating.

“No,” he said at length, “it is not worth while.  You are no wife of mine.  Do you hear?”

She gave no sign.

“You are Rosenblatt’s swine.  Let him use you.”

Another shudder shook her.

“Oh, my lord!” she moaned, “kill me.  Let me die!”

“Bah!” He spat on the snow.  “Die, when I have done with you, perhaps.  Take me where we can be alone.  Go.”

She glanced about at the shacks standing black and without sign of life.

“Come,” she said, leading the way.

He followed her to a shack which stood on the outskirts of the colony.  She pushed open the door and stood back.

“Go in,” he said savagely.  “Now a light.”

He struck a match.  Paulina found a candle which he lit and placed on a box that stood in the corner.

“Cover that window,” he commanded.

She took a quilt from the bed and pinned it up.  For a long time he stood motionless in the centre of the room, while she knelt at his feet.  Then he spoke with some deliberation.

“It is possible I shall kill you to-night, so speak truly to me in the name of God and of the Holy Virgin.  I ask you of my children.  My girl is eleven years old.  Have you protected her?  Or is she—­like you?”

She threw off her shawl, pulled up her sleeves.

“See,” she cried, “my back is like that.  Your daughter is safe.”

Livid bars of purple striped her arms.  The man gazed down at her.

“You swear this by the Holy Cross?” he said solemnly.

She pulled a little iron cross from her breast and kissed it, then looked up at him with dog’s eyes of entreaty.