"Mrs. Withey--innocent!" she gasped.
"Yes, she is innocent, and you have the power of saving her life."
"Doctor McMurray, that woman robbed me of my husband--both of his love
and of his memory." Mrs. Trent was in deadly earnest.
"But--she is innocent, and you can save her from a wretch's death,"
the old man repeated.
"Save her--her, who stands in my mind for all that I ought to hate?"
"Mrs. Trent," Doctor McMurray said in a low voice, "you ought to hate
no-one, not even if he uses you as Mrs. Withey has used you. If we
keep on hating the clouds will never lift."
Mrs. Trent rose heavily from her chair and labored from her window
that she might look out across the valley toward the Peak. Her voice
was hoarse as she answered:
"Oh, I'm afraid the clouds will never lift. The hatred of that woman
is like a fog which closes in upon my soul, and shuts off every beam
of sunshine. I can't see through it, and the heaviness of it chokes
me. The clouds will never lift."
The old minister came up beside her, and stood looking for a time out
toward the Peak.
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