"
"Yes; the talk is about you. It came from doctor somebody; I don't
know whom. He's attending the girl."
"What is said? I wish to know. Don't keep back anything on account
of my feelings. I shall know as to its truth or falsehood; and, true
or false, it is better that I should stand fully advised. A
seamstress came to work for me on Monday--it was a stormy day, you
know--took cold from wet feet, and is now very ill. That much I
know. It might have happened at your house, or your neighbors,
without legitimate blame lying against either of you. Now, out of
this simple fact, what dreadful report is circulated to my injury?
As I have just said, don't keep anything back."
"The story," replied the friend, "is that she walked for half a mile
before breakfast, in the face of that terrible north-east storm, and
came to you with feet soaking and skirts wet to the knees, and that
you put her to work, in this condition, in a cold room, and suffered
her to sit in her wet garments all day. That, in consequence, she
went home sick, was attacked with pleurisy in the evening, which
soon ran into acute pneumonia, and that she is now dying. The
doctor, who told my friend, called it murder, and said, without
hesitation, that you were a murderer."
"Dying! Did he say that she was dying?"
"Yes, ma'am. The doctor said that you might as well have put a
pistol ball through her head.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109