“Mrs. Bent’s own version,” said Edith, “is that as soon as she entered the cottage and before she spoke a word, Mrs. Smith said to her: ‘Neighbor, you’ve come to tell me that they’ve taken my son. I shall never see him again this side the Resurrection. But I am not afraid. The God of Righteousness has promised to take care of me.’ Mrs. Bent was quite astonished. She didn’t know what was meant.” “How _could_ Mrs. Smith have known? Who could have told her?” “She said to Mrs. Bent that God Himself had appeared to her. Mrs. Bent saw that she was sinking even then. Dr. Joliffe was sent for at once, but before he could get there Mrs. Smith was dead.” The vicar was deeply moved by the tragic story. It was a sequel which he had not been able to foresee. The swiftness of the stroke in a measure softened the terrible sense of direct responsibility; none the less he was much upset. As for Edith, the sequence of events had filled her with an emotion little short of horror. It was in her voice and her eyes as she now discussed them. A feeling of intolerable pain came upon her as she realized what a very important part in the tragedy she had played. It was her complaint against John Smith which lay at the root of all. Father and daughter were very unhappy. Edith was inclined to blame herself more than she blamed the vicar. Her loyal nature was capable of great generosity, and it showed itself now in taking the chief share of the catastrophe upon herself. She was bound to believe that her father had taken a greatly exaggerated view of John Smith’s heresies, but his sincerity was beyond question. The vicar’s zeal had wrought irreparable harm, but knowing him for the man he was, it was impossible to blame him. As soon as luncheon was over the vicar set out for Dr. Joliffe’s. He was a man of strong, imperious will, and in this sudden flux of events he felt called to exercise it to the full. Had he done right? In spite of a limited horizon, in spite of a fixed determination not to allow himself a doubt in the matter, he was unable to prevent a sinister little demon leaping into his brain as he crossed the village green, and saw on the one hand a deserted pile of stone, on the other the lowered blinds of the widow’s cottage. It was futile to ask the question now. He could not call the dead to life. Nor could he revoke the processes of the law. John Smith was under lock and key at Wellwood Asylum for the good of the state. Armed with the opinion of Dr. Parker and Dr. Murfin, a Welbeck Street specialist, it had not been a difficult matter to convince the county bench that the realm would be the safer for a measure so drastic. But was it? All the vicar’s power of will was needed to allay the horrid demon voice. In fact he had not quite succeeded by the time he entered Dr. Joliffe’s gate.