'Ah! there's wisdom in counsel!' said one of the farmers, a man with crafty eyes.
'Then,' James went on, 'all would 'a been well. But now to spare would be death.'
'Ah, everlasting death!' came the echoes.
'And now' (James' face seemed to Hazel to wear the same expression as when he pocketed the money)—'now there is but one cure. She must go to a reformatory. There she'll be disciplined. She'll be made to repent.'
He looked as if he would like to be present.
They all leant forward. The younger men were sorry for Edward. None of them was sorry for Hazel. There was a curious likeness, as they leant forward, between them and the questing hounds below.
'And then?' Edward prompted, his face set, tremors running along the nerves under the skin.
'Then we would expect you to make a statement in a sermon, or in any way you chose, that you'd cast your sins from you, that you would never speak or write to this woman again, and that you were at peace with the Lord.'
'And then?'
'Then, sir'—Mr. James rose—'we should onst again be proud to take our minister by the 'and, knowing it was but the deceitfulness of youth that got the better of you, and the wickedness of an 'ooman.'