When the door was shut, Amos saw that Grandfather was weeping.
"Don't worry, Uncle," said he. "Matthew is safe. I'm confident of it. And Ellen will come to school for two more years. She will not forget."
"He came into our meeting from curiosity. He took all I had. He made her like a mad creature; she had only one thought and that was to be with him. But she was punished, poor, poor Mary! and now she is sanctified."
Amos's cheeks burned again. He was curious about such madness.
"They didn't live long together?"
"Four years. At first he was determined to go away, but this Mary resisted. She was like the Anastasia of whom our records tell. The better spirit had begun to work upon her and she knew that if she went from the shelter of this place she was lost."
"I'm not afraid for these children," said Amos again.
But he spoke absently. When the old man had gone to bed, he went outside and walked up and down in the thick grass. After a long time, when it was so late that passers-by were few and no headlights cast their glare over the little cemetery, he passed through the gate and stood by the white stone, thinking of the cousin whose beauty he remembered, in whom love was a sort of madness. Yet religion had been more to her than love! A dreadful word which Levis had used tempted him—was she not a fool to give up love? It seemed to him that the fragrant night was resonant with voices, calling vaguely and unhappily. He looked down upon the white stone and traced with his hand the inscription which he had read a thousand times:
Mary
Wife of
Edward Levis
Daughter of
Abraham Milhausen
Aged 25 years