"She took a little," whispered Grace.
The girl turned her head to one side as though to avoid drinking. Then
she muttered a few words.
"What did she say?" asked Amy.
"I couldn't understand it," answered Betty.
Again the stranger murmured something, and this time the girls caught:
"No, no! I will not go back to him! Anything but the life I have been
leading. Oh, why must I do it? Why?"
There was pathetic pleading in the words.
"There, my dear, you will be taken care of," spoke Betty, soothingly.
"We will take you to your friends."
"I--I have none! Oh, I can't go back to--him!"
Her eyes did not open, and she appeared to be in a delirium.
"Poor thing!" said Amy, softly. "Bathe her head, Betty."
"Yes, I think that will be better than trying to force her to drink."
Dipping her handkerchief in the water Betty wiped away the blood from
the cut. It was seen to be a small one.
"That ought not to make her unconscious," said Betty. "More likely she
has some additional injury; possibly a blow on some other part of her
head. Girls, did you ever see such glorious hair!" Betty caressed it.
Truly there was a mass of it, and it was of beautiful silkness and
softness. It was still partly bound up, but the autoists could easily
tell that it must reach almost to the ground when the girl stood up.
"What in the world could she have been doing up the tree?" asked Grace,
as Mollie came back with more water.
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