Would he come out? He did. I heard him coming; but I would not move. I knew that I was in his way, and wanted him to have to speak to me. I sat just where he must stand to lock the door.
"Are you waiting to see me?" he asked. "Is there anything for the sexton to do?"
I arose, and turned my face toward him.
"I am waiting to see if I can do anything for you. I am your minister's wife's sister."
What could have made him shake so? And such a queer, incongruous answer he gave!
"Isn't it enough to have a voice, without a face's coming to torment me too?"
It was not the voice that spoke in the tower yesterday. It was of the kind that has a lining of sentiment that it never was meant by the Good Spirit should be turned out for the world to breathe against, making life with mortals a mental pleurisy.
"I hope I don't torment you."
"You do."
"When did your mother die?"