"I cannot accept the responsibility," he answered, in a tone of pain.
"If she were dwelling under my roof, it would be mine; but I cannot take
your share of it. As your pastor, I place your duty before you, and you
cannot neglect it without peril. As a snare to her soul it has become an
accursed thing in your household; and I warn you of it most earnestly,
beseeching you to hear in time to save yourself, and her, and David from
misery!"

"Mr. Warden," exclaimed Mrs. Bolton, "I am astonished at your
fanaticism!"

She had risen from her chair, and was about to sail out of the vestry
with an air of outraged dignity, when Mr. Warden said, in a low tone,
and with a heavy sigh, "See, there she is!"

Mrs. Bolton paused and turned toward the window, which overlooked the
little grave of her nephew's child, who had been very dear to herself.
Sophy had just sunk down beside it. There was a slight strangeness and
disorder about her appearance, which no stranger might have noticed, but
which could not fail to strike both of them. She looked dejected and
unhappy, and hid her face in her hands, as though she felt their gaze
upon her. The clergyman laid his hand upon Mrs. Bolton's arm with an
unconscious pressure, and looked earnestly into her clouded face.

"Look!" he said. "In Christ's name, I implore you to save her."

"I will do what I can," she answered impatiently, "but I cannot take
your way to do it; it is irrational."

"There is no other way," he said mournfully, "and I warn you of it."