She walked to the nearest window, threw up the sash, and while she
stood with the damp chill wind blowing full upon her the pastor heard
a moan, such as comes from meek, dumb creatures, wrung by the throes
of dissolution.

When she turned once more to the light, he saw an unnatural sparkle
in the dry, lustrous, brown eyes.

"Dr. Hargrove, give me the license that was handed to you by Cuthbert
Laurance."

"What value can it possess now?"

"Just now it is worth more to me than everything else in life,--more
to me than my hopes of heaven."

"Mrs. Laurance, you must remember that I refused to perform the
marriage ceremony, because I believed you were both entirely too
young. Your grandmother who came with you assured me she was your
sole guardian, and desired the marriage, and your husband, who seemed
to me a mere boy, quieted my objections by producing the license,
which he said exonerated me from censure, and relieved me of all
responsibility. With that morning's work I have never felt fully
satisfied, and though I know that any magistrate would probably have
performed the ceremony, I have sometimes thought I acted rashly, and
have carefully kept that license as my defence and apology."

"Thank God, that it has been preserved. Give it to me."