“Ah! don’t touch me!” she cried out--“don’t yuh touch me, tuh hate me worse than ever when yuh know--Listen--listen hard, ’cause yuh ain’t a-goin’ to bleeve me when first yuh hear. Yuh come here tuh thank me fur savin’ her life. Listen: ’twas me ez tried to kill her--’twas me! me! me!” The last word broke from her with a wild sob, almost vindictive in its urgent violence. She seemed like one who scourges mercilessly his own flesh for its sins against his soul. “I done it--I done it. I tried ter kill her. Listen! You’ve hearn o’ fever bein’ cyar’d in bits o’ ribbon--in leetle bits o’ velvet ribbon--one, two, ten, twenty years? There was a leetle baby died here onc’t. It died o’ th’ fever _she_ liked tuh ’a’ died of. I give her that piece o’ velvet to w’ar roun’ her pretty throat. I went up intuh th’ attic, an’ hunted an’ hunted till I found it in th’ baby’s cradle. I give it to her. I tried to kill her. O my God! Do yo’ want tuh touch me--now?” He stood and stared on her like one dazed by a sudden blow, though not quite stunned. “You are crazy,” he said, thickly. “Poor Virginia, you are crazy.” “O God!” she wailed. “I wisht I wuz--I wisht I wuz! Oh, ef I wuz only like them dumb beasts in th’ stables out thar! Ef I wuz only Bonnibel, then--then--then yuh wouldn’ hate me; an’ ef yuh did, I wouldn’ know.” “You are raving,” he said again. “Ask her--ask her, if yo’ don’ bleeve me. Ask her ’f Faginia Herrick didn’ bring her a leetle bit o’ blue velvet to w’ar round her throat the night she got wet in th’ rain. She said then it smelt damp like it had been in a attic. Ask her--ask her.” “God in heaven!” said Roden, between his teeth, “can you be telling me the truth?” “_He_ knows I am!--_He_ knows I am!” she said, wildly. Roden turned from her, resting his hand on the back of the chair in which he had sat when he first entered the room. His head drooped. The double horror seemed like a palpable thing at his side. “D’ yo’ bleeve me?” she said, with panting eagerness. “Yes,” he said. She would not have recognized his voice had he spoken in the dark. She waited a few moments, motionless, frozen, as it were, with suspense and dread. Then she leaned forward, and holding fast her bosom with her crossed arms in the gesture usual with her, fixed her dilating eyes upon him. Was it possible, could it be true, that after all he could not curse her? Nay, dear God! was he even going to forgive her? “Say something,” she said, in a bated voice--“say somethin’. Jess so you don’ curse me, say somethin’.” Still he spoke not. She fell upon her knees and laid her head upon his feet. “O my God! my God!” she sobbed, “air yuh goin’ tuh furgive me?” Then he spoke to her. “Forgive you?” he repeated--“forgive you?” He laughed a short, rough laugh. “By G--!” he said, turning away from her, so that her forehead rested on the bare floor instead of on his feet, “it’s all I can do not to curse you!”