Then came the accident, striking down the strong man at the height of his powers, as the lightning blasts the mighty oak in full leaf. Stunned at first, Anne, rallying, felt the blow as a manifestation of offended Power. A mind like hers works in strangely tortuous ways. But after a while she began to see in this awful affliction a means of grace thus given when all else had failed; and it was then that the wan ghost of happiness began to visit Anne's desolate breast. The world had been violently wrenched away from her husband's grasp, which otherwise would, most likely, never have loosed; it might perhaps now come to pass—through mercy cloaked in cruelty—that his thoughts would turn heavenward. So poor Anne thought, and thus it was that when, to all outward seeming, the husband's hopeless convalescence was the last settling down of darkest despair, in reality a shining rainbow of hope first began to span the wife's long-clouded content.
Was it then possible for Anne to listen for a moment to this incredible, monstrous, destroying thing which the doctor had urged? Could she by listening endanger this late-coming chance for the salvation of her husband's soul in consenting to the sinful relief of his bodily need? The thought of yielding never crossed her mind, nor the shade of a shadow of doubt that she was right. It was to her simply a question of her conscience standing firm against her love. Anne—fortunate in this, however unfortunate in all other respects—always saw the way before her, open, and straight, and very, very narrow. To her clear sight a sharp, distinct line ever divided right from wrong; on this side everything was snow-white, on that side everything was jet-black. There were no myriad middle shades of gray to bewilder Anne's crystal gaze. Living were less hard for some of us—some, too, as conscientious as Anne—if all could see, or even think they see, as clearly through the whitish, grayish, blackish mists, so that they also might be able unerringly to tell where the pure white ends and the real black begins.
XII
MISS JUDY'S LITTLE WAYS
When the doctor's deep voice roared out what he thought of any man who failed in his duty for fear of offending anybody's prejudices, Miss Judy, who was busy among the shrubbery in her yard, overheard him, and was quite frightened by the severity of his tone, though she did not catch the words. She knew him to be the mildest of absent-minded men, and she accordingly fluttered around the house, wondering what could be the matter.
She had been engaged in tying up a rose bush which grew at the side of the door, and which was too heavy laden with its sweet burden of blush roses. She was holding a big bunch in her hand as she hurried toward the gate, blushing when she saw the gentlemen, till her delicate face was as pink as the freshest among her roses. The doctor brightened and smiled, as everybody brightened and smiled at the sight of Miss Judy. He opened the gate before she reached it, knowing that she would never tempt ill luck by shaking hands over it. When they had shaken hands, he presented Lynn Gordon, whom she had not met, and who stood a little apart, thinking what a pretty old lady she was.
"Miss Judy," said the doctor, before she had time to ask what had happened, "what do you think of playing poker?"
"Mercy—me!" exclaimed Miss Judy, opening her blue eyes very wide in blank amazement. And then, catching her breath, she became mildly scandalized.
"Well—really, doctor!" she began, blushing more vividly, making her little mouth smaller than usual, "primping" it, as she would have said, and bridling with the daintiest little air of prudery, which she never would have dreamt of putting on for the doctor alone, but which seemed to her to be the proper manner before a strange young gentleman—and one from Boston too. "I have never been required to think anything of any gambling game! Such matters were left entirely to gentlemen; they were not mentioned before ladies in my day."