Strangely enough he seemed to be able to watch quite impersonally the struggle that was going on in his own soul. He wondered what this tempted man would do, who in a single day had fallen away from all his nice ideals of honour!
“I have found a buyer for your wild land near Wheeling,” Benson told Virginia two days later. He stood by the window with his back to the light; to him the air of that low-ceilinged room was close and stifling.
“You have done what, Mr. Benson?” Virginia asked, turning quickly toward him.
“I have found a buyer for your land near Wheeling,” he repeated huskily.
“But should I sell? Is there need for it now?” Virginia asked doubtfully.
“Why continue to pay taxes on the land?” but Benson did not meet her glance. If his life had depended on it, he could not.
“Stephen always thought it might prove valuable some day.”
“I fear that day is a long way off,” he said in a low voice, and still with averted eyes.
“So, then, you think I should sell the land, now that I have the opportunity?”
He was silent for an instant and then asked, “Would you—would you—consider five thousand dollars for the land?” The words came with an effort; they seemed to choke him.