James Minturn's laugh was ugly to hear.
"My dear girl," he said. "I made sure she had not three years ago."
"And I made equally sure that she had," said Leslie, "in the tamarack swamp when she wrestled as Jacob at Peniel against her birth, her environment, her wealth, and triumphed over all of them for you and her sons. I can't go on with my own plan for personal happiness, until I know for sure if you perfectly understand that she came to you that night to confess to you her faults, errors, mistakes, sins, if need be, and ask you to take the head of your household, and to help her fashion each hour of her life anew. Did she have a chance to tell you all this?"
"No," said Mr. Minturn. "But it would have made no difference, if she had. It came too late."
"You have not the right to say that to any living, suffering human being!" protested Leslie.
"I have a perfect right to say it to her," said Mr. Minturn. "A right that would be justified in any court in the world, either of lawyers or people."
"Then thank God, Nellie gets her trial higher. He will understand, and forgive her."
"You don't know what she did," said Mr. Minturn. "What she stood before me and the officers of the law, and admitted she did."
"I don't care what she did! There were men forgiven on the cross; because they sincerely repented, God had mercy on them, so He will on her, and what's more, He won't have any on you, unless you follow His example and forgive when you are asked, by a woman who is as deeply repentant as she was."
"Her repentance comes too late," said Mr. Minturn with finality. "Her error is not reparable."