"Then he did love me, dearly?"
"So dearly, that I thought he would have died deploring thy loss."
Barbara drew a deep breath, and tears swelled heavily under her drooping eyelids.
"But he married another!" she said, with an effort.
"Yes; but he was still faithful to the love of his youth. It was but the ruin of a heart which William Phipps gave in his second marriage. He said this to me on the night when I was summoned to perform the ceremony."
"Did he say this?"
"Of a verity he did. It was like whispering it to his own heart, for I alone held his secret. In the future he hoped that tender friendship might warm into love; but I had buried the wife of my bosom, and knew how vain was the hope."
Barbara's eyes were fastened on the old man's face. She drank up his words eagerly. A smile parted her lips; a flush of roses warmed her cheeks. Then a shadow swept over her, and bending her head in gentle humility she murmured:
"Poor, poor lady!"
For a moment both Parris and the lady sat together in silence. Then Barbara looked up with a sad smile, and went on with her story.