orm of anger in
her heart was so much more imperative. She waited impatiently for
the hour appointed for the funeral, and then threw over her head
and shoulders a large hood and cloak of blue flannel. She did not
realize that the wind blew them backward, that her gray hairs were
dripping and disarranged, and her clothing storm-draggled and
unsuitable for the occasion; her one thought was to reach Liot's
house about the time when the funeral guests were all assembled. She
lifted the latch and entered the crowded room like a bad fate.
Every one ceased whispering and looked at her.

She stepped swiftly to the side of the coffin, which was resting
on two chairs in the middle of the room. Liot leaned on the one at
the head; the minister stood by the one at the foot, and he was
just opening the book in his hands. He looked steadily at Matilda,
and there was a warning in the look, which the angry woman totally
disdained. Liot never lifted his eyes; they were fixed on Karen's
dead face; but his hands held mechanically a Bible, open at its
proper place. But though he did not see Matilda, he knew when she
entered; he felt the horror of her approach, and when she laid her
hand on his arm he shook it violently off and forced himself to look
into her evilly gleaming eyes.

She laughed outright. "So the curse begins," she said, "and this is
but the first of it."

"This is no hour to talk of curses, Mistress Sabiston," said the
minister, sternly. "If you cannot bring pity and pardon to the dead,
then fear to come into their presence."

"I have nothing to fear from the dead. It is Liot Borson who is
'followed,' not me; I did not murder Bele Trenby."

"Now, then," answered the minister, "it is time there was a stop
put to this talk. Speak here, before the living and the dead, the
evil words you have said in the ears of so many. What have you to
say against Liot Borson?"

"Look at him!" she cried. "He dares to hold in his hands the Holy
Word, and I vow those hands of his are red with the blood of the man
he murdered--I mean of Bele Trenby."

Liot kept his eyes fixed on her until she ceased speaking; then he
turned them on the minister and said, "Speak for me."

"Speak for thyself once and for all, Liot. Speak here before God and
thy dead wife and thy mates and thy townsmen. Did thy hands slay
Bele Trenby? Are they indeed red with his blood?"

"I never lifted one finger against Bele Trenby. My hands are clear
and clean from a