“Dead--he is dead--the man is dead!” he said in a low voice. “Dead--Marcus Blaydon--dead--are you sure?” “Quite sure,” he replied. “Thank God!” she said, speaking her words as though she were breathing a sigh of great relief. And so she was; she was speaking of her husband. CHAPTER VI There came a dreadful misgiving to her. She clutched her father’s arm as they stood together on the road. “You are sure?” she said in a low voice, with her eyes looking at him with something of fierceness in their expression. “There is no mistake--no possibility of a mistake? Remember what the man was--a trickster--unscrupulous--you are sure? Is that a letter--a paper?” “A paper,” he said--“several papers. There can be no doubt about it. And don’t speak ill of him now, Priscilla. You will be sorry for it. He died the death of a man. However bad his life may have been, he made up for it in his death.” “A hero?” she said, and she was smiling so that her father was angered. “I would not have believed it of you; it is unnatural,” he said. “Have you no sense of what’s proper--what’s decent?” “I have no sense that makes me be a hypocrite,” she said. “The man cheated me--he was within an hour or two of making me the most pitiful creature. As it was he made me the laughing-stock of the world. No one thought of my misfortune in being married to an impostor, a criminal, and having my life ruined by him. Every one took it for granted that I was a poor weak creature, on the look-out for a husband and ready to jump at the first suitor who turned up. What could I long for but his death? What chance should I have of doing anything in the world so long as he was alive and married to me? What could I long for but his death? At first it was mine that I longed for; but then I saw that to long for his was more sensible--more in keeping with the will of Heaven.” “The will of Heaven! How can you talk like that, Priscilla?” “If God has any idea of justice--of right and wrong--as we have been taught to regard right and wrong by those who assure us that they have been let into some of His secrets--it could not be His will that I should have my life wrecked by that man. I felt that I was born for something better, and so I hoped that he would die. Now that by the goodness of God he is dead, shall I not be grateful? Oh, what fools! standing here on the roadside discussing a delicate point in theology instead of talking over the good news!” He looked at her for a few stern moments, and then thrust into her hand a bundle of papers. “Read them for yourself,” he said. “I am going into the town. I don’t want to be by while you are chuckling over the death of a man--a man who died as the noblest man might be proud to die--trying to save his fellow creatures from destruction. Read those papers for yourself, and then ask God to forgive you for your dreadful words.” “He died like a hero,” she murmured, taking the papers; and then she smiled again.