"Don't try to tell me what it is," he cried. "Only tell me how I may help you. It's not your sin, surely, so you don't have to bear it."
"It's not mine, but I do have to bear it. I wish my bearing it was all. Tell me, if—if a man has done—such a sin, is it right to help him get away?"
"If it is that big brother of yours, whom I saw last night, I can't believe he has done anything so very wicked. You say it is not the whiskey?"
"Maybe it was the whiskey first—then—I don't know exactly how came it—I reckon he doesn't himself. I—he's not my brothah—not rightly, but he has been the same as such. They telegraphed me to come home quick. Bishop Towahs told me a little—all he knew,—but he didn't know what all was it, only some wrong to call the officahs and set them aftah Frale—poor Frale. He—he told me himself—last evening." She paused again, and the pallor slowly left her face and the red surged into her cheeks and mounted to the waves of her heavy hair.
"It is Frale, then, who is in trouble! And you wish me to help him get away?" She looked down and was silent. "But I am a stranger, and know nothing about the country."
He pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back, regarding her intently.
"Oh, I am afraid for him." She put her hand to her throat and