"I don't understand this sort of
thing. I was not meant to understand it."
"But Mr. Eager--he came when I was out, and acted according to
his principles. I don't blame him or any one... but by the time
George was well she was ill. He made her think about sin, and she
went under thinking about it."
It was thus that Mr. Emerson had murdered his wife in the sight
of God.
"Oh, how terrible!" said Lucy, forgetting her own affairs at
last.
"He was not baptized," said the old man. "I did hold firm." And
he looked with unwavering eyes at the rows of books, as if--at
what cost!--he had won a victory over them. "My boy shall go back
to the earth untouched."
She asked whether young Mr. Emerson was ill.
"Oh--last Sunday." He started into the present. "George last
Sunday--no, not ill: just gone under. He is never ill. But he is
his mother's son. Her eyes were his, and she had that forehead
that I think so beautiful, and he will not think it worth while
to live. It was always touch and go.
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