He knew whom she meant, but he had to ask, “Joseph Dylks? Why I thought he was--” “Don't say it! It's murder! I don't want you to have his blood on you _too_. Oh, if he was _only_ dead! Yes, yes! I have a right to wish it! Oh, God be merciful to me, a sinner!” “When--when--how did you know it, Nancy?” “Yesterday morning or day before--just after you left. I reckon he was waitin' for you to go. I'm glad you went first.” The man looked up at the rifle resting on the pegs above the fireplace. “Laban, don't!” she cried. “_I_ looked at it when he was walkin' away, and I know what you're thinkin'.” “What is he goin' to do?” the man asked from his daze. “Nothing. He said he wouldn't do nothing if I didn't. If he hadn't said it I might believe it!” Laban shifted his weight where he stood from one foot to the other. “He passed the night at David's. He's passed two nights there.” “Was it the snorting man?” “I reckon.” “I heard about him at the Cross Roads. Why didn't David tell us yesterday?” “Maybe he hadn't thought it out. David thinks slow. He likes to be sure before he speaks. He was sure enough this morning!” the woman ended bitterly. “What did he say?” “He said it was living in sin for us to keep together if he was alive.” Laban pondered it. “I reckon if we come together without knowing he was alive, it ain't no sin.” “Yes, it is!” she shrieked. “We was married just like anybody; we didn't make no secret of it; we've lived together four years. Are you goin' to unlive them years by stoppin' now?” “Don't you s'pose I been over all that a million times? My mind's sore workin' with it; there ain't a thought in me that don't ache from it. But David's right. We've got to part. I put your things in this poke here,” she said, and she gave him a bag made from an old pillow tick, with a few clothes lumping it half full. “I'll carry the baby, Laban.” She pulled back from him with the child in her arms. “Or no, you can carry her; you'll have to leave her, too, and you've got a right to all the good you can get of her now. Don't touch anything. I'll stay at David's, tonight, but I'll come back in the morning, and then I'll see what I'll do--stay, or go and live with David. Come!” “And what about Joey?” Laban asked, half turning with the child when they were outside. “I declare I forgot about Joey! I'll see, to-morrow. It seems as if my very soul was tired now. “Joey will just think we've gone over to David's for a minute; he'll go to bed when he comes; he'll have had his supper at Peter Hingston's, anyway.” As they walked away, she said, “You're a good man, Laban Billings, to feel the way you always do about Joey. You've been a true father to him; I wonder what his _own_ father'd have been.”