I said, 'When William Bond wants
to break with me, he'll say so.' And the next day you did say so."
The parson wrung his hands in an involuntary gesture of appeal.
"Minnie! Minnie!" he cried, "why didn't you save me? What made you let
me _be_ a fool?"
She met his gaze with a tenderness so great that the words lost all
their sting.
"You always were, William," she said quietly. "Always rushing at things
like Job's charger, and having to rush back again. Never once have I
read that without thinking of you. That's why you fixed up an angel out
of poor little Isabel."
The parson made a fine gesture of dissent. He had forgotten Isabel.
"Do you want to know what else I did?" Her voice grew hard and
unfamiliar. "I'll tell you. I went to my sister Eliza, and I said:
'Some way or another, you've spoilt my life. I'll forgive you just as
soon as I can--maybe before you die, maybe not. You come with me!' and
I went up garret, where she kept the chest with things in it that
belonged to them that had died. There it sets now. I stood over it with
her. 'I'm going to put my dead things in here,' I said. If you touch a
finger to 'em, I'll get up in meeting and tell what you've done. I'm
going to put in everything left from what you've murdered; and every
time you come here, you'll remember you were a murderer.
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