"I spoke fer the sake of Alfaretta's soul, and fer the sake of them that's heard her say them things about Tom Davis, provin' there wasn't any punishment for sinners. Don't look so, preacher!" "Tell me her name!" "Her name--her name? Oh, you know it, sir, you know it--it's--your wife, preacher." John Ward sprang at the cowering figure of the big elder, and clinched his trembling hands on the man's shoulders, with an inarticulate cry. "My wife!" he said, between his teeth. "How dare you speak her name!" He stopped, struggling for breath. "My duty!" gasped the elder, trying to loosen the trembling fingers--"to her--an' you--an' the church you've starved and neglected, Brother Ward!" John blenched. Mr. Dean saw his advantage. "You know your vows when you were ordained here six years ago: do you keep them? Do you feed your people with spiritual food, or will you neglect them for your wife's sake, and let her example send the souls in your care to endless ruin?" John had loosened his hold on the elder, and was leaning against the wall, his head bowed upon his breast and his hands knotted together. A passion of horrified grief swept across his face; he seemed unconscious of the elder's presence. Mr. Dean looked at him, not certain what to do or say; he had quite forgotten Alfaretta's "notice." At last the preacher raised his head. "You have said enough," he said, in a low voice; "now go," and he pointed with a shaking finger to the door. "Go!" he repeated. The elder hesitated, then slowly put on his hat and stumbled from the room. John did not notice his outstretched hand, but followed him blindly to the door, and locked it after him. The full blaze of sunshine flooded the room with its pitiless mirth; it was wilting the dish of violets, and he moved it to the shaded end of the table. * * * * * Alfaretta, peering out of her attic window, and wiping her eyes on the corner of the dimity curtain which hid her, saw the elder walk out of the parsonage and through the little gateway, with shame written on his drooping shoulders and in his hurried, shambling steps. He never once looked back. CHAPTER XVII. Almost before Elder Dean had left the threshold Helen stood at the bolted door. She turned the knob gently while she knocked. "John," she said anxiously,--"John, dear!" But there was no answer. "John!" she said again, a thread of fear in her voice. "What is the matter? Are you ill, dearest? Please let me in!" Only the rustle of the wind outside and the flickering shadows across the hall answered her. She shook the door slightly, and then listened. "John, John!" she called again, and as she heard a long breath inside the closed room she leaned against the wall, faint with a fright she had not realized. She heard a slow footstep upon the floor, that stopped on the other side of the door.