"It could do no harm now that you are a woman grown," said Quincy. "At first they both loved me," Lindy continued, "but a year after I came here to live their son was born, and from that time on all was changed. Mr. Putnam was never unkind to me but once, but Mrs. Putnam seemed to take delight in blaming me, and tormenting me, and nagging me, until it is a wonder that my disposition is as good as it is, and you know it is not very good," said she to Quincy with a little smile. She resumed her story: "I loved the little boy, Jones I always called him, and as we grew up together he learned to love me and took my part, although he was three years younger than myself. This fact made Mrs. Putnam hate me more than ever. He stayed at home until he was twenty-two, then he went to his father and mother and told them that he loved me and wished to marry me. Both Mr. and Mrs. Putnam flew into a great rage at this. The idea of a brother marrying his sister! They said it was a crime and a sacrilege, and the vengeance of God would surely fall upon us both. Jones told them he had written to a lawyer in Boston, and he had replied that there was no law prohibiting such a marriage. 'But the law of God shines before you like a flaming sword,' said Mrs. Putnam; and Mr. Putnam agreed with her, for she had all his property in her possession." Quincy smiled. "They packed Jones off to the city at once," said Lindy, "and his mother gave him five thousand dollars to go into business with. Jones began speculating, and he was successful from first to last. In three months he paid back the five thousand dollars his mother had given him, and he never took a dollar from them after that day. At twenty-six he was worth one hundred thousand dollars. When I went to Boston I always saw him, and he at last told me he could stand it no longer. Be wanted me to marry him and go to Europe with him. I told him I must have a week to think it over. If I decided to go I would be in Boston on a certain day. I would bring my trunk and would stop at a certain hotel and send word for him to come to me. I used all possible secrecy in getting my clothes ready, and packed them away, as I thought, unnoticed, in my trunk, which was in the attic. Mrs. Putnam must have suspected that I intended to leave home, and she knew that I would not go unless to meet her son. The day before I planned going to Boston, or rather the night before, she entered my room while I was asleep, took every particle of my clothing, with the exception of one house dress and a pair of slippers, and locked me in. They kept me there for a week, and I wished that I had died there, for when they came to me it was to tell me that Jones was dead, and I was the cause of it. I who loved him so!" And the girl's eyes filled with tears. "What was the cause of his death?" asked Quincy.