"You believe I meant to rob you?"
Meeting her eyes, William bent his own on the floor, and lied.
"I reckon you meant to buy me, Cousin 'Lizabeth."
His wife tittered spitefully.
"Woman!" cried the girl, lapping up her timid merriment in a flame of wrath. "Woman, listen to me. Time was I loved that man o' your'n; time was he swore I was all to him. He was a liar from his birth. It's your natur' to think I'm jealous; a better woman would know I'm sick—sick wi' shame an' scorn o' mysel'. That man, there, has kissed me, oft'n an' oft'n—kissed me 'pon the mouth. Bein' what you are, you can't understand how those kisses taste now, when I look at you."
"Well, I'm sure!"
"Hold your blasted tongue!" roared William. Mrs. Transom collapsed.
"Give me the candle," 'Lizabeth commanded. "Look here—"
She held the corner of the will to the flame, and watched it run up at the edge and wrap the whole in fire. The paper dropped from her hand to the bare boards, and with a dying flicker was consumed. The charred flakes drifted idly across the floor, stopped, and drifted again. In dead silence she looked up.
Mrs. Transom's watery eyes were open to their fullest. 'Lizabeth turned to William and found him regarding her with a curious frown.