Elvira Carney sobbed in panting gasps.

"You've got tears, have you?" marvelled Mrs. Comstock. "Mine all dried
long ago. I've none left to shed over my wasted life, my disfigured face
and hair, my years of struggle with a man's work, my wreck of land among
the tilled fields of my neighbours, or the final knowledge that the man
I so gladly would have died to save, wasn't worth the sacrifice of a
rattlesnake. If anything yet could wring a tear from me, it would be the
thought of the awful injustice I always have done my girl. If I'd lay
hand on you for anything, it would be for that."

"Kill me if you want to," sobbed Elvira Carney. "I know that I deserve
it, and I don't care."

"You are getting your killing fast enough to suit me," said Mrs.
Comstock. "I wouldn't touch you, any more than I would him, if I could.
Once is all any man or woman deceives me about the holiest things of
life. I wouldn't touch you any more than I would the black plague. I am
going back to my girl."

Mrs. Comstock turned and started swiftly through the woods, but she had
gone only a few rods when she stopped, and leaning on the hoe, she stood
thinking deeply. Then she turned back. Elvira still clung to the fence,
sobbing bitterly.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Comstock, "but I left a wrong impression with
you. I don't want you to think that I believe the Almighty set a cancer
to burning you as a punishment for your sins. I don't! I think a lot
more of the Almighty. With a whole sky-full of worlds on His hands to
manage, I'm not believing that He has time to look down on ours, and