ep her from harm and grief.' Then, raising his voice, and looking at
me, he said, 'Something has gone wrong with the child; and it seemed to
me to date from the time she heard of that marriage. It is hard to
think that you may know more of her secret cares and sorrows than I
do,--but perhaps you do, Paul, perhaps you do,--only, if it be not a
sin, tell me what I can do to make her happy again; tell me.'

'It will not do much good, I am afraid,' said I, 'but I will own how
wrong I did; I don't mean wrong in the way of sin, but in the way of
judgment. Holdsworth told me just before he went that he loved Phillis,
and hoped to make her his wife, and I told her.'

There! it was out; all my part in it, at least; and I set my lips tight
together, and waited for the words to come. I did not see his face; I
looked straight at the wall Opposite; but I heard him once begin to
speak, and then turn over the leaves in the book before him. How
awfully still that room was I The air outside, how still it was! The
open windows let in no rustle of leaves, no twitter or movement of
birds--no sound whatever. The clock on the stairs--the minister's hard
breathing--was it to go on for ever? Impatient beyond bearing at the
deep quiet, I spoke again,--

'I did it for the best, as I thought.'

The minister shut the book to hastily, and stood up. Then I saw how
angry he was.

'For the best, do you say? It was best, was it, to go and tell a young
girl what you never told a word of to her parents, who trusted you like
a son of their own?'

He began walking about, up and down the room close under the open
windows, churning up his bitter thoughts of me.

'To put such thoughts into the child's head,' continued he; 'to spoil
her peaceful maidenhood with talk about another man's love; and such
love, too,' he spoke scornfully now--a love that is ready for any young
woman. Oh, the misery in my poor little daughter's face to-day at
dinner--the misery, Paul! I thought you were one to be trusted--your
father's son too, to go and put such thoughts into the child's mind;
you two talking together about that man wishing to marry her.'

I could not help remembering the pinafore, the childish garment which
Phillis wore so long, as if her parents were unaware of her progress
towards womanhood. Just in the same way the minister spoke and thought
of her now, as a child, whose innocent peace I had spoiled by vain and
foolish talk. I knew that the truth was di