ent on: "He's that stiff, folks say, that
stiff he is, he'll have to get into a rounded coffin: he's just like
half a hoop. He was all of a heap, like. Had a fight with 's bolster,
and got th' wust of it. But, be 't the seizure, or be 't gout in 's
belly, he's gone clean dead. And he wunt buy th' Farm, nether. Shutters
is all shut up at the Hall. He'll go burying about Wednesday. Men that
drinks don't keep."

Rhoda struck at her brain to think in what way this death could work and
show like a punishment of the heavens upon that one wrong-doer; but it
was not manifest as a flame of wrath, and she laid herself open to the
peace of the fields and the hedgeways stepping by. The farm-house came
in sight, and friendly old Adam and Eve turning from the moon. She heard
the sound of water. Every sign of peace was around the farm. The cows
had been milked long since; the geese were quiet. There was nothing but
the white board above the garden-gate to speak of the history lying in
her heart.

They found the farmer sitting alone, shading his forehead. Rhoda kissed
his cheeks and whispered for tidings of Dahlia.

"Go up to her," the farmer said.

Rhoda grew very chill. She went upstairs with apprehensive feet, and
recognizing Mrs. Sumfit outside the door of Dahlia's room, embraced her,
and heard her say that Dahlia had turned the key, and had been crying
from mornings to nights. "It can't last," Mrs. Sumfit sobbed: "lonesome
hysterics, they's death to come. She's falling into the trance. I'll go,
for the sight o' me shocks her."

Rhoda knocked, waited patiently till her persistent repetition of her
name gained her admission. She beheld her sister indeed, but not the
broken Dahlia from whom she had parted. Dahlia was hard to her caress,
and crying, "Has he come?" stood at bay, white-eyed, and looking like a
thing strung with wires.

"No, dearest; he will not trouble you. Have no fear."

"Are you full of deceit?" said Dahlia, stamping her foot.

"I hope not, my sister."

Dahlia let fall a long quivering breath. She went to her bed, upon which
her mother's Bible was lying, and taking it in her two hands, held it
under Rhoda's lips.

"Swear upon that?"

"What am I to swear to, dearest?"

"Swear that he is not in the house."

"He is not, my own sister; believe me. It is no deceit. He is not.
He will not trouble you. See; I kiss the Book, and swear to you,
my beloved! I speak truth. Come to me, dear." Rhoda put her arms u