you, but I'll never love you till you poison that man of yours. There,
now, don't whimper. Everythin's all right."

The sympathy of the community was aroused, and it was a genuine
sympathy. Milford found that this neighborhood was very much like the
rest of the world, lacking heart only in places. He stood at the grave,
listening to the faltering tones of an aged man, and he muttered to
himself, "I've got to do that one thing."

Old Lewson had convinced Mrs. Stuvic of the truth of spiritualism. She
was attracted by a faith that entailed no prayers and no church-going.
It left her free, not to lie down in the green pastures of the poetic
psalmist, but to tramp rough-shod among the nettles of profanity. The
church advised that no eye should be turned upon wine, rich in deceitful
color, and the old woman was not always sober. Therefore, she took up
old Lewson's faith, first because it was easy, and afterward because it
seemed natural that she should come back and haunt her enemies. More
than once she had been heard to say, gazing after some one driving along
the road, "Oh, but I'll make it lively for him when I come back! He
shan't sleep a wink!" But to the old man she did not make a complete
confession of her conversion to his faith till she saw death staring out
of his eyes, and then she reminded him of his promise to return on the
third night, and make himself known to her. Had there remained in her
heart any fag-end of rebellion gainst the pliable tenets of his
credulous doctrine, the last look that he gave her would have driven it
out. "I believe you, Lewson," she gasped, when his wrinkled chin sank
upon his withered breast.

The third night came. She did not give her secret to the boarders; she
was not afraid of the heat of an argument or the scorch of a fight, but
the thought of ridicule's cold smile made her shudder. She hated
education, and was afraid of its nimble trickery. There was more of
insult in a word which she did not understand than in a term familiarly
abusive. But she told Milford. He was under obligations, and dared not
scoff. She requested him to sit upon the veranda, to wait for her coming
from the spirit's presence chamber. She drove the Dutch girl to bed, not
in the house, but in an outlying cottage. In the dining-room she
whispered to Milford, ready to turn him out upon the veranda. The
clock's internals growled the five-minute verge of twelve. She turned
Milford out, and hastened into Lewson'