In Martinsburg Mr. Taverner, Mr. Fairhead’s cousin, met the stage and took Mrs. Blake and her companion to his house, where his wife made them very comfortable.

After dark he drove the two women out to the ferry in his buggy. He had warned the ferryman that he would be sending two friends across tonight, so the ferryman asked no questions. He said “Good evening, mam,” to Mrs. Blake, and held out his hand to help her into the boat. Nancy followed. She had never been in a boat before, never seen any stream wider than Back Creek.

The Potomac ran strong here, leaped over ledges and boulders with a roaring sound like a waterfall. It was cold out on the river, and the churned water threw up a light spray. Nancy’s winter shawl was not heavy enough to keep out the chill; Mrs. Blake could feel her shivering as they sat on the narrow seat. The boat swayed and swung on its wire, however carefully the ferryman used his oars to right it. Once Mrs. Blake thought they certainly had broken loose. When they reached shallow water, the ferryman tied up his boat and helped the two women to climb up the rocks to level ground. He called: “Hello,” but there was no answer.

“We got a little cabin here, where passengers waits. Their folks is sometimes late comin’. You better come in an’ set down on the bench till your folks come. Don’t be skeered of nothin’; I’ll be around. Mr. Taverner told me one of the passengers was to go back. I’ll be right around where you kin call me.”

Mrs. Blake and Nancy sat huddled together in the damp little hut which smelled of tobacco smoke and rotting wood. A cricket was chirping sharply inside, and outside was the perpetual, agitating rush of the river, — a beautiful sound when you are not frightened, but Nancy was. And Mrs. Blake was disappointed. So far, the journey had been swift and pleasant, but this halt was a little disturbing. She could feel the courage oozing out of the girl beside her. It might be best to say something, something practical, to divert Nancy’s thoughts. She asked her to feel whether her garters were tied tight, and her money safe in her stockings. In a flash she knew she had said the wrong thing. The girl wilted altogether.

“Oh, Miz’ Blake, please mam, take me home! I can’t go off amongst strangers. It’s too hard. Let me go back an’ try to do better. I don’t mind Miss Sapphy scoldin’. Why, she brought me up, an’ now she’s sick an’ sufferin’. Look at her pore feet. I ought-a borne it better. Miz’ Blake, please mam, I want to go home to the mill an’ my own folks.”

“Now don’t talk foolish. What about Martin?”

“I kin keep out-a his way, Miz’ Blake. He won’t be there always. I can’t bear it to belong nowheres!”

“You’ve been a brave girl right along, an’ you mustn’t fail me now. I took a big risk to get you this far. If we went back, Mother would never forgive you — nor me. It would be worse than before. These Quaker folks will be kin............