"That is not true, Judge. Anyone to see him, to hear him talk, to know him, would feel that he could not commit such a crime. Why, sometimes when I am alone it almost exasperates me to think about it; and to realize that I am in a conspiracy against him. It is cruel, and at times I fancy that I am almost as unnatural as you are." "To be bound by an oath? Is that unnatural? Is it unnatural to have honor? I told you in the first place to protect you; I bound you by oath to protect her, his mother. That is simple enough." "But you don’t know how near I have come to the violation of that oath. More than once I have had it in my heart to tell him—but I couldn’t," she broke off. "I couldn’t. But he is going away, and I will write it to him, every detail of it; and I know that he will forgive me." "You make me the criminal when I am the injured. Let us go back." *CHAPTER XX.* *THE PREACHER CONFESSES.* Bradley had argued with himself that at the proper time it would be simple enough to tell the girl that he loved her, and no doubt he was right, but the time did not come. He sat beside her on the sofa, when the Judge and Florence had quitted the room, and he looked into her eyes, and the proper words arose like a graceful flight of birds, rich in bright feathers, but they scattered and flew away. He could have delivered an oration upon beauty and love, and he did; but he feared to surprise her by telling her that he loved her. He did not dream that she had discovered it coming before he felt it. It was not possible for so innocent a creature to know so much. He was a large man, and large men may have sentiment, but sometimes they lack sentimental nerve. "You don’t believe now that I talked what you termed sweet to that poor girl, do you?" "Oh, I don’t know. But I don’t see why she should look at you that way even if you did—did lead her. It must have looked nice, you going along leading her. What do you suppose people thought?" "No one—one saw me lead her," Bradley stammered. "Oh, then it was in the dark. Led her in the dark." "She didn’t mean that I really took her by the hand and led her. I led her spiritually." "Is that all? Where did you find her—spiritually?" "Going—shall I say?" "Why, of course." "Going to the devil." "Oh, and did she say so, or could you see for yourself?" "I could see. Agnes—Miss Agnes, if I were not afraid of lowering myself in your esteem, I would tell you something." "Don’t tell me anything dreadful," she cried, stopping her ears. "I know it must be something awful." He waited for her to unstop her ears, which she did very soon, and then he spoke, but on another subject. She replied listlessly, leaning her head on the back of the sofa. He told her about his church and she yawned. He had been delighted to see her in the congregation, and she yawned again. "I thought you were going to tell me about that woman," she said.