"I don't set up for anything," I declared, "but I may as well confess that I see no sense in what you say. Here's a human creature that needs help, and it seems to be my place to help her."
"It's a nice occupation for the daughter of Judge Privet to be nursing a disreputable thing like a Brownrig."
"A Privet," I answered, "is likely to be able to stand it. You wouldn't let the girl die alone, would you?"
"She wasn't alone. Mrs. Bagley was here."
"You wouldn't let her die with Mrs. Bagley, then?"
Mrs. Webbe looked me straight in the eye for a moment, with a look as hard as polished steel.
"Yes," she said, "I would."
I could only stare at her in silence.
"There," she went on, "make the best of that. I'm not going to be mealy-mouthed. I would let her die, and be glad of it. Why should I want her alive? Do you think I've no human feelings? Do you think I'd ever forgive her for dragging Tom into the mud? I've been on my knees half the night praying she and her brat might both die and leave us in peace! If there's any justice in heaven, a man like Deacon Webbe won't be loaded down with the disgrace of a grandchild like that."
There was a sort of fascination in her growing wildness. Everybody knows how she sneers at the meekness of her husband, and that she is continually saying he hasn't any force, but here she was catching at his goodness as a sort of bribe to Heaven to let her have the life of mother and child. I could not answer her, but could only be thankful no houses were near. Mrs. Bagley would hear, I supposed, but that could not be helped.