eemed to me at the time,
not in the light of subsequent events. For, if this narrative has any
interest at all, it is a psychological one. I have said that it is a
study in fear, but perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it is
a study of the mental reaction of crime, of its effects on different
minds, more or less remotely connected with it.

That my analysis of my impressions in the church that morning are not
colored by subsequent events is proved by the fact that under cover of
that date, July 16th, I made the following entry:

"Why do Maggie and Miss Benton distrust each other?"

I realized it even then, although I did not consider it serious, as is
evidenced by the fact that I follow it with a recipe for fruit gelatin,
copied from the newspaper.

It was a calm and sunny Sunday morning. The church windows were wide
open, and a butterfly came in and set the choir boys to giggling. At the
end of my pew a stained-glass window to Carlo Benton--the name came like
an echo from the forgotten past--sent a shower of colored light over
Willie, turned my blue silk to most unspinsterly hues, and threw a sort
of summer radiance over Miss Emily herself, in the seat ahead.

She sat quite alone, impeccably neat, even to her profile. She was so
orderly, so well balanced, one stitch of her hand-sewed organdy collar
was so clearly identical with every other, her very seams, if you can
understand it, ran so exactly where they should, that she set me to
pulling myself straight. I am rather casual as to seams.

After a time I began to have a curious feeling about her. Her head was
toward the rector, standing in a sort of white nimbus of sunlight, but
I felt that Miss Emily's entire attention was on our pew, immediately
behind her. I find I can not put it into words, unless it was that her
back settled into more rigid lines. I glanced along the pew. Willie's
face wore a calm and slightly somnolent expression. But Maggie, in her
far end--she is very high church and always attends--Maggie's eyes were
glued almost fiercely to Miss Emily's back. And just then Miss Emily
herself stirred, glanced up at the window, and turning slightly,
returned Maggie's glance with one almost as malevolent. I have hesitated
over that word. It seems strong now, but at the time it was the one that
came into my mind.

When it was over, it was hard to believe that it had happened. And even
now, with everything else clear, I do not pretend to explain