from her. A cry was heard, a wild, inarticulate cry of rage, of
defiance; the next moment something rushed past her like a flash; there
was a brief struggle, a shout, an oath, then a heavy fall. When the
bewildered child could clear her eyes from the mist of fright that
clouded them, Le Boss was lying on the ground; and towering over him
like an avenging spirit, his blue eyes aflame, his strong hands
clenched for another blow, stood Jacques De Arthenay.

Just what happened next, Marie never quite knew. Words were said as in
a dream. Was it a real voice that was saying: "This is my wife, you
dog! take yourself out of my sight, before worse comes to you!" Was it
real? and did Le Boss, gathering himself up from the grass with foul
curses, too horrible to think of--did he make reply that she was his
property, that he had bought her, paid for her, and would have his own!
And then the other voice again, saying, "I tell you she is my wife, the
wife of a free man. Speak, Mary, and tell him you are my wife!" And
did she--with those blue eyes on her, which she had never met before,
but which now caught and chained her gaze, so that she could not look
away, try as she might--did she of her own free will answer, "Yes,
Monsieur, I am your wife, if you say it; if you will keep me from him,
Monsieur!" Then--Marie did not know what came then. There were more
words between the two men, loud and fierce on one side, low and fierce
on the other; and then Le Boss was gone, and she was walking back to
the house with the man who had saved her, the man to whom she belonged
now; the strong man, whose hand, holding hers as they walked, trembled
far more than her own. But Marie did not feel as if she should ever
tremble again. For that one must be alive, must have strength in one's
limbs; and was she dead, she wondered, or only asleep? and would she
wake up some happy moment, and find herself in the little white bed at
Abiroc's house, or better still, out in the blessed fields, alone with