“Not for the universe!” said the old man. “I know what her touch is to innocent things like this. Have no fear. She shall be driven hence, leper as she is.” “Leper! Ah! that’s a new name,” half snarled, half jeered the woman. “I thought you had run yourself out abusing me. But this is something uncommon! Leper! that is a name in your Protestant Bible, I suppose.” “If you have business here, speak; if not, go out from under my roof; I cannot breathe while it shelters you. Go, I say. You have driven my poor child mad again. The sight of you is worse than death to us all.” “Now this is hospitality, this is gratitude. Well, well, I am ready to go. Shall I carry the little boy for you, ma’am?” “No,” replied the widow, breathless with apprehension; “give Edward to me, sir. I must return home. My people do not know that he is found.” “Oh! don’t be frightened. I a’n’t after your precious treasure. Keep him to yourself, for what I care. He isn’t mine a bit more than he’s yours, so we won’t quarrel about him.” The witch gave the strings of her bonnet a sharp jerk as she spoke, tied them in a hard knot under her chin, and fluttered from the room, leaving an unpleasant laugh floating behind. When she disappeared, moving downward to the water, the old man spoke again: “I will carry the boy home for you. Don’t be frightened. She is a wicked woman, but her day is over; she can insult nothing more!” “Who is she?” inquired the widow, so anxiously that her question seemed abrupt. “An evil woman, who has led an evil life,” he answered. “Do not mention her. Drive her from the house. I charge you, never let that woman enter the presence of my child again,” interposed the old lady, who entered the room that instant. “She never shall, mother, she never shall,” answered the husband. “Be pacified. She will not attempt to return.” “She, who haunted my child into a madhouse, comes again like a fiend that will not be satisfied. Poor, poor Elsie, she will not speak to me. There she sits in a corner of her room, singing over that one word ‘alone, alone.’ Husband, husband, it is breaking my heart.” “Be patient, wife. The woman has gone. Elsie will recover from this wild fit—do be patient!” he replied, soothingly. “I will go to her. I will sit down by her side, and weep while she sings. I am old and weak. What else can I do but weep for my child.” The old lady went out, making this mournful plaint, and her husband, with a troubled face, and slow, sad step, bore little Edward homeward. As he walked, the good man became composed; the little form pressed to his bosom gave bloom and life to his feelings; a glow of enthusiasm stole through his veins; and without knowing it, the old man grew strong in the young life given to his embrace. The widow walked thoughtfully by his side. Her brow was clouded, her look troubled. She glanced back now and then, apprehensive that the evil woman might follow her and the child.