"I was spared," she said, in a rasping voice. "But the tragedy, as you call it, had to come sooner or later. It was an act of God, if you ask me."
"Well, we're not asking you, Hemming; but we're delighted to have your opinion.—So God had a hand in the shooting, eh?"
"He did that!" The woman spoke with religious fervor. "The Greenes are an ungodly, wicked family." She leered defiantly at Chester Greene, who laughed uneasily. "'For I shall rise up against them, saith the Lord of hosts—the name, the remnant, and son, and daughter, and nephew'—only there ain't no nephew—'and I will sweep them with the besom of destruction, saith the Lord.'"
Vance regarded her musingly.
"I see you have misread Isaiah. And have you any celestial information as to who was chosen by the Lord to personify the besom?"
The woman compressed her lips. "Who knows?"
"Ah! Who, indeed? . . . But to descend to temporal things: I assume you weren't surprised at what happened last night?"
"I'm never surprised at the mysterious workin's of the Almighty."
Vance sighed. "You may return to your Scriptural perusings, Hemming. Only, I wish you'd pause en route and tell Barton we crave her presence here."
The woman rose stiffly and passed from the room like an animated ramrod.
Barton came in, obviously frightened. But her fear was insufficient to banish completely her instinctive coquetry. A certain coyness showed through
