How
not to wound him, yet not to yield?
"I am eight-and-twenty," she said. "I am afraid I must follow my own
judgment. You have no responsibility in the matter. If I am blamed," she
smiled proudly--at that instant she knew all that her book was
worth--"the blame will not attach to you. And, after all, Minna and the
Pratts and the Thursbys need not read it."
"No one will read it," said Mr. Gresley. "It was a profane, wicked book.
No one will read it."
"I am not so sure of that," said Hester.
The brother and sister looked at each other with eyes of flint.
"No one will read it," repeated Mr. Gresley--he was courageous, but all
his courage was only just enough--"because, for your own sake, and for
the sake of the innocent minds which might be perverted by it, I have--I
have--burned it."
Hester stood motionless, like one struck by lightning, livid, dead
already--all but the eyes.
"You dared not," said the dead lips. The terrible eyes were fixed on
him. They burned into him.
He was frightened.
"Dear Hester," he said, "I will help you to rewrite it. I will give up
an hour every morning till--" Would she never fall? Would she always
stand up like that? "Some day you will know I was right to do it. You
are angry now, but some day--" If she would only faint, or cry, or look
away.
Pages:
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377