me twa'n't a fit match. And his people, havin' money,
was just as set against his takin' a poor girl. Both sides said ruin
would come of it. But I married him.

"Well, for the first year 'twa'n't so bad. Not happiness exactly, but
not misery either. That come later. His people was well off and he'd
never worked much of any. He did for a little while after we was
married, but not for long. Then he begun to drink and carry on and lost
his place. Pretty soon he begun to neglect me and at last went off to
sea afore the mast. We was poor as poverty, but I could have stood that;
I did stand it. I took in sewin' and kept up an appearance, somehow.
Never told a soul. His folks come patronizin' around and offered me
money, so's I needn't disgrace them. I sent 'em rightabout in a hurry.
Once in a while he'd come home, get tipsy and abuse me. Still I said
nothin'. Thank God, there was no children; that's the one thing I've
been thankful for.

"You can't keep such things quiet always. People are bound to find out.
They come to me and said, 'Why don't you leave him?' but I wouldn't.
I could have divorced him easy enough, there was reasons plenty, but I
wouldn't do that. Then word came that he was dead, drowned off in the
East Indies somewheres. I come back here to keep house for Sol, my
brother, and I kept house for him till he died and they offered me this
place here at the parsonage. There! that's my story, part of it, more'n
I ever told a livin' soul afore, except Sol."

She ceased speaking. The minister, who had sat silent by the window,
apathetically listening or trying to listen, turned his head.

"I apologize, Mrs. Coffin," he said dully, "you have had trials, hard
ones. But--"

"But they ain't as hard as yours, you think? Well, I haven't quite
finished yet. After word come of my husband's death, the other man come
and wanted me to marry him. And I wanted to--oh, how I wanted to! I
cared as much for him as I ever did; more, I guess. But I wouldn't--I
wouldn't, though it wrung my heart out to say no. I give him up--why?
'cause I thought I had a duty laid on me."

Ellery sighed. "I can see but one duty," he said. "That is the duty
given us by God, to marry the one we love."

Keziah's agitation, which had grown as she told her story, suddenly
flashed into flame.

"Is that as fur as you can see?" she asked fiercely. "It's an easy duty,
then--or looks easy now. I've got a harder one; it's to stand by the
promise I gave