"Therefore, I dreaded to be cast out. I dreaded discovery. Your visit filled me with uneasiness, that, as the day wore away, reached intense anxiety, and finally arose to insupportable anguish and suspense. Then I went to listen at the door, only to hear whether your conversation concerned me—whether I was still to be left in peace or to be cast out upon the bitter cold world. Ah, do not blame me too much! Just think how I suffered!" she said, pathetically, clasping her hands.
"'Oh, what a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive!'"
murmured the old man to himself. Then, aloud, he said:
"Poor girl, you were snared in the web of your own contriving! Yet still, when I caught you in that net, why did you deny your identity and try to make me believe that you were somebody else?"
"Oh, the same sin of [helplessness] and cowardice; the same fear of discovery and exposure; the same horror of being cast forth from this pure, safe, peaceful home into the bitter, cold, foul, perilous world outside! I feared, if you found out who I was, you would expose me, and I should be cast adrift. And then it all came so suddenly I had no time for reflection. The instinct of self-preservation made me deny my identity before I considered what a falsehood I uttered. Ah, have you no pity for me, in considering the straits to which I was reduced?" she pleaded, clasping her hands before him and raising her eyes to his face.
"'The way of the transgressor is hard,'" murmured the minister to himself. Then he answered her:
"Yes, I do pity you very much. I pity you for your sins and sufferings. But more than all I pity you for the moral and spiritual blindness of which you do not even seem to be suspicious, far less conscious."
"I do not understand you," murmured Mary Grey, in a low, frightened tone.
"No, you do not understand me. Well, I will try to explain. You have pleaded your youth as an excuse for your first 'false step,' as you call it. But I tell you that a girl who is old enough to sin is old enough to know better than to sin. And if you were not morally and spiritually blind you would see this. Secondly, you have pleaded your necessities—that is, your interests—as a just cause and excuse for your matrimonial engagement with Governor Cavendish, and for your eavesdropping in this house, and also for your false statements to me. But I tell you if you had been as truly penitent as you professed to be you would have felt no necessity so pressing as the necessity for true repentance, forgiveness and amendment. And if you had not been morally and spiritually blind you would have seen this also. I sometimes think that it may be my duty to discover you to this family. Yet I will be candid with you. I fear that if you should be turned adrift here you might, and probably would, fall into deeper sin. Therefore I will not expose you—for the present, and upon conditions. You are safe from me so long as you remain true, honest and faithful to this household. But upon the slightest indication of any sort of duplicity or double dealing I shall unmask you to Madam Cavendish. And now you had better retire. Good-night."
And with these words the old man walked to a side-table, took a bed-room candle in his hand and gave it to the widow.