“No impression whatever?”
“No, brother.”
“How,” Parson Lute demanded, with a start, “does she––ah––subsist?”
“She fishes, brother, in quiet weather, and she is helped, though it is not generally known, by a picturesque old character of the place––a man not of the faith, a drunkard, I fear, but kind-hearted and generous to the needy.”
“The woman ever converted before?”
“Twice, brother,” Parson Stump answered; “but not now in a state of grace. She is quite obstinate,” he added, “and she has, I fear, peculiar views––very peculiar, I fear––on repentance. In fact, she loves the child, you see; and she fears that a confession of her sin––a confession of repentance, you know––might give the world to think that her love had failed––that she wished the child––well––unborn. She would not appear disloyal to Judith, I fear, even to save her soul. A peculiar case, is it not? A difficult case, I fear.”
“I see,” said Parson Lute, tapping his nose reflectively. “The child is the obstacle. A valuable hint in that. Well, I may be able to do something, with God’s help.”
“God bless you, brother!”
They shook hands....