The girl tried to shake off the distress which the last incident had perhaps chiefly occasioned.  It was natural that her own little sorrow should be uppermost, but the heart that held it was too deep to hold her personal sorrow only.

Rotha stepped into the room adjoining, which for her convenience, as well as that of the invalid, had been made the bedroom of Mrs. Ray.  Placid and even radiant in its peacefulness lay the face of Ralph’s mother.  There was not even visible at this moment the troubled expression which, to Rotha’s mind, denoted the baffled effort to say, “God bless you!” Thank God, she at least was unconscious of what had happened and was still happening!  It was with the thought of her alone—­the weak, unconscious sufferer, near to death—­that Rotha had said that worse might occur.  Such an eviction from house and home might bring death yet nearer.  To be turned into the road, without shelter—­whether justly or unjustly, what could it matter? —­this would be death itself to the poor creature that lay here.

No, it could not, it should not happen, if she had power to prevent it.

Rotha reached over the bed and put her arms about the head of the invalid and fervently kissed the placid face.  Then the girl’s fair head, with its own young face already ploughed deep with labor and sorrow, fell on to the pillow, and rested there, while the silent tears coursed down her cheeks.

“Not if I can prevent it,” she whispered to the deaf ears.  But in the midst of her thought for another, and that other Willy’s mother as well as Ralph’s, like a poisonous serpent crept up the memory of Willy’s bitter reproach.  “It was cruel, very cruel.”

In the agony of her heart the girl’s soul turned one way only, and that was towards him whose absence had occasioned this latest trouble.  “Ralph!  Ralph!” she cried, and the tears that had left her eyes came again in her voice.

But perhaps, after all, Willy was right.  To be turned into the road would not mean that this poor sufferer should die of the cold of the hard winter.  There were tender hearts round about, and shelter would be found for her.  Yet, no! it was Ralph’s concernment, and what right had they to take charity for his mother without his knowledge?  Ralph ought to be told, if they could tell him.  Yes, he must be told.

Having come to a settled resolution on this point, Rotha rose up from the bed, and, brushing her tangled hair from her forehead, walked back into the kitchen.  Standing where she had stood while the constables were there, she enacted every incident and heard every syllable afresh.

There could be no longer any doubt that Ralph should know what had already happened and what further was threatened.  Yet who was to tell him, and how was he to be told?  It was useless to approach Willy in his present determination rather to suffer eviction than to do Ralph the injury of leading, or seeming to lead, to his apprehension.