The minister's voice was low and entreating. He seemed about to weep. Barbara went close to him.
"If it will avail to make you happier," she said, gently, "I can say of a truth that I believe you have dealt honestly with me, and when death comes, I, the victim and the sufferer, hold you free from all blame. If I have in any thing brought trouble under your roof, forgive me now before we part forever."
As she stood thus, bowed forward, with both hands up to her temples, there was something in the attitude, and in the very depth of her sobs, that struck the old man with compassion. He stood up, and with his withered hands attempted to put back the hair from her face, as if she had been a little girl whose grief he pitied.
"Would to God thou hadst never crossed my path," he said; "or that I had now the power to save as it has been given me to destroy."
"Do not mourn for me, or blame yourself," answered the lady. "If it seems hard to die, it was harder still to live. Give me your blessing, Samuel Parris, for, despite the fate that threatens me, I do think you a Christian. So let us part in peace."
The old man lifted his hands, and blessed the woman he had destroyed.
Barbara turned to Norman Lovel. "Go with this good old man," she said. "He is heavy-hearted to-night. Speak kindly to him, and come early in the morning. You will stay with me to the last."
"To the last!" answered the young man. Then he and the minister went out, leaving Barbara Stafford alone.