no longer into my house. She thinks me a bad woman." Her voice sank
low. Her face flamed a dark red.

"Aha," said the man, "I would see that woman. To-morrow you
will bring me to her. At dusk to-morrow I will pass your house.
You will meet me. Now go."

She remained kneeling in her place. Then she crawled nearer his feet.

"Oh, my lord!" she sobbed, "I have done wrong. Will you not beat
me? Beat me till the blood runs down. He was too strong for me.
I was afraid for the children. I had no place to go. I did a
great wrong. If my lord would but beat me till the blood runs down,
it would be a joy to me."

It was the cry of justice making itself heard through her dull
soul. It was the instinctive demand for atonement. It was the
unconscious appeal for reinstatement to the privileges of wifehood.

"Woman," he said sternly, "a man may beat his wife. He will not
strike a woman that is nothing to him. Go."

Once more she clutched his feet, kissing them. Then she rose and
without a word went out into the dusky night. She had entered upon
the rugged path of penitence, the only path to peace for the sinner.

After she had gone, the man stepped to the door and looked after
her as if meditating her recall.

"Bah!" he said at length, "she is nothing to me. Let her go."