“Why! why--er--yes,” he stammered. “I was saying that--that I don't know what I should have done without Mrs. Coffin. She's a treasure. Frankly, she is the only real friend I have found in Trumet.” “I know. I feel the same way about her. She means so much to me. I love her more than anyone else in the world, except uncle, of course--and Nat. I miss her very much since--since--” “Since I came, you mean. I'm sorry. I wish--I hate to think I am the cause which separates you two. It isn't my fault, as you know.” “Oh! I know that.” “Yes, and I object to having others choose my friends for me, people who, because of a fanatical prejudice, stand in the way of--If it wasn't for that, you might call and see Mrs. Coffin, just as you used to do.” Grace shook her head. They had moved on to the bend of the bluff, beyond the fringe of pines, and were now standing at the very edge of the high bank. “If it wasn't for that, you would come,” asserted the minister. “Yes, I suppose so. I should like to come. I miss my talks with Aunt Keziah more than you can imagine--now especially. But, somehow, what we want to do most seems to be what we mustn't, and what we don't like is our duty.” She said this without looking at him, and the expression on her face was the same sad, grave one he had noticed when he first saw her standing alone by the pine. “Why don't you come?” he persisted. “I can't, of course. You know I can't.” “Why not? If my company is objectionable I can go away when you come. If you dislike me I--” “You know I don't dislike you personally.” “I'm awfully glad of that.” “But it's impossible. Uncle respects and is fond of Aunt Keziah, but he wouldn't hear of my visiting the parsonage.” “But don't you think your uncle might be persuaded? I'm sure he misunderstands me, just as I should him if it weren't for Mrs. Coffin--and what you've said. Don't you think if I called on him and he knew me better it might help matters? I'll do it gladly. I will!” “No, no. He wouldn't listen. And think of your own congregation.” “Confound my congregation!” “Why, Mr. Ellery!” She looked at him in amazement; then her lips began to curl. “Why, Mr. Ellery!” she repeated. The minister turned very red and drew his hand across his forehead. “I--I don't mean that exactly,” he stammered. “But I'm not a child. I have the right to exercise a man's discretion. My parish committee must understand that. They shall! If I choose to see you--Look out!” She was close to the overhanging edge of the bluff and the sod upon which she stood was bending beneath her feet. He sprang forward, caught her about the waist, and pulled her back. The sod broke and rattled down the sandy slope. She would have had a slight tumble, nothing worse, had she gone with it. There was no danger; and yet the minister was very white as he released her. She, too, was pale for a moment, and then crimson.