Even now, when she could see the light of the devil in his one gleaming eye, it was only her flesh--and not her soul--that was afraid.
But the strain had begun to show its mark.

In the blue of her eyes was the look of one who was never free of haunting visions, her cheeks were pallid, and a little too thin, and the vivid redness of her lips was not of health and happiness, but a touch of the color which should have been in her face, and which until now had refused to die.
She faced the man, a little out of the reach of his arm.
"I told you never again to raise your hand to strike her," she cried in a fierce, suppressed little voice, her blue eyes flaming loathing and hatred at him.

"If you hit her once more--something is going to happen.
If you want to hit anyone, hit me.

I kin stand it.

But--look at her! You've broken her shoulder, you've crippled her--an' you oughta die!" The man advanced half a step, his eye ablaze.