Think of that."

"Haven't I thought of it day and night, until I have been about crazy?
But it is no use, I cannot tell on him."

"And are you willing to let him go free that he may do the same
villainous things in the future that he has done in the past? A word
from you will stir the parish to its very depths. If the people only
knew what Ben did to you at Long Wharf that night, they would rise and
drive him from the place. If I told what I know they would not believe
me. But if you confirm what I say, that will make all the difference."

"Please do not urge me," Jean pleaded. "I cannot do it."

"You must love him still."

"No, I do not love him now," and the girl's voice was low.

"What hinders you, then, from telling?"

"It is the love I had for him in the past. That is one of the sweet
memories of my life. Nothing can ever take it from me. No matter what
he has done, and no matter what may happen to me, it is something to
look back upon those days which are almost sacred to me now. But
there, it is no use for me to say anything more. It is difficult for
me to explain, and harder, perhaps, for you to understand."

With a deep sigh of weariness, Jean closed her eyes and turned her face
on the pillow. Knowing that nothing more could be accomplished, and
chiding himself that he had tired her, Douglas rose to go.

"Just a moment, please," Jean said, as she again opened her eyes. "Are
you sure that Nell does not care for Ben? Tell me once more."

"Miss Strong told me so herself," Douglas replied. Then in a few words
he related the scene that had taken place in front of the Jukes' house
on Friday afternoon. "Doesn't that prove the truth of what I have
said?" he asked in conclusion.

"Thank you very much," was the only reply that Jean made, as she again
closed her eyes and turned her face toward the wall.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when Empty came out of the
house and strolled over to where his mother was sitting alone under the
apple tree.

"Where in the world have you been?" she demanded as he approached.

"Asleep," and the boy gave a great yawn and stretched himself.

"Well, I declare! When will ye ever git enough sleep? Ye'll have
nuthin' but a sheep's head if ye keep on this way."

Empty made no reply as he sat down upon the ground by his mother's
side. He was too happy to take offence at anything she might say. He
had heard a great piece of news through the stove-pip