"In honour bound, though it breaks the heart of me, I'm going to speak, Mary-Clare, then his poor soul can rest in peace. "The Methodist parson, what comes teetering 'round just so often, always thought Philander was hell-bound, Mary-Clare; well, since there ain't anyone but that parson as knows so much about hell, to send for, I've sent for him and there's no knowing what he won't feel called upon to say with Philander lying helpless for a text. So now, after I tell you what must be told, I want that you should read the burial service over Philander and then that parson can do his worst--my ears will be deaf to him and Philander can't hear." There was a heavy pause while Mary-Clare waited. "Hell don't scare me nohow," Peneluna went on; "seems like the most interesting folks is headed for it and I'll take good company every time to what some church folks hands out. And, too, hell can't be half bad if you have them you love with you. So the parson can do his worst. Philander and me won't mind now. "Back of the time we came here"--Peneluna was picking her words as a child does its blocks, carefully in order to form the right word--"me and Philander was promised." Drifting about in Mary-Clare's thought a scrap of old scandal stirred, but it had little to feed on and passed. "Then a woman got mixed up 'twixt him and me. In her young days she'd been French and you know yer can't get away from what's born in the blood, and the Frenchiness was terrible onsettling. Philander was side-twisted. Yer see, Mary-Clare, when a man ain't had nothing but work and working folks in his life, a creature that laughs and dances and sings gets like whiskey in the head, and Philander didn't rightfully know what he was about." Peneluna drew the end of her crêpe veil up and wiped her eyes. "They went off together, him and the furriner. Least, the furriner took him off, and the next thing I heard she'd taken to her heels and Philander drifted here to the mines. I knew he needed me more than ever--he was a dreadful creature about doing for himself, not eating at Christian hours, just waiting till he keeled over from emptiness, so I came logging along after him and--stayed. He was considerable upset when he saw me and he never got to, what you might say, speaking to me, but he was near and he ate the food I left on his steps and he washed the plates and cups and that meant a lot to Philander. If I'd been his proper wife he wouldn't have washed 'em. Men don't when they get used to a woman.