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.

"Oh, my lord!" she began. "I could not save myself. I was a
stranger. He took my money. We had no home."

"Stop, liar," he thundered, "I gave you money when you left
Galicia."

"Yes, I paid it for the house, and still there was more to pay."

"Liar again!" he hissed; "I sent you money every month.
I have your receipts for it."

"I had no money from you," she said humbly. "He forced me to have
men sleep in my house and in my room, or lose my home. And the
children, what could I do? They could not go out into the snow."

"You got no money from me?" he enquired.

Again she kissed the little cross. "I swear it. And what could I do?"

"Do!" cried the man, his voice choked with rage. "Do! You could die!"

"And the children?"