“It said publish it.”

“That is nothing; it also said do it privately, if you liked.  There, now—­is that true, or not?”

“Why, yes—­yes, it is true; but when I thought what a stir it would make, and what a compliment it was to Hadleyburg that a stranger should trust it so—­”

“Oh, certainly, I know all that; but if you had only stopped to think, you would have seen that you couldn’t find the right man, because he is in his grave, and hasn’t left chick nor child nor relation behind him; and as long as the money went to somebody that awfully needed it, and nobody would be hurt by it, and—­and—­”

She broke down, crying.  Her husband tried to think of some comforting thing to say, and presently came out with this: 

“But after all, Mary, it must be for the best—­it must be; we know that.  And we must remember that it was so ordered—­”

“Ordered!  Oh, everything’s ordered, when a person has to find some way out when he has been stupid.  Just the same, it was ordered that the money should come to us in this special way, and it was you that must take it on yourself to go meddling with the designs of Providence—­and who gave you the right?  It was wicked, that is what it was—­just blasphemous presumption, and no more becoming to a meek and humble professor of—­”

“But, Mary, you know how we have been trained all our lives long, like the whole village, till it is absolutely second nature to us to stop not a single moment to think when there’s an honest thing to be done—­”

“Oh, I know it, I know it—­it’s been one everlasting training and training and training in honesty—­honesty shielded, from the very cradle, against every possible temptation, and so it’s artificial honesty, and weak as water when temptation comes, as we have seen this night.  God knows I never had shade nor shadow of a doubt of my petrified and indestructible honesty until now—­and now, under the very first big and real temptation, I—­Edward, it is my belief that this town’s honesty is as rotten as mine is; as rotten as yours.  It is a mean town, a hard, stingy town, and hasn’t a virtue in the world but this honesty it is so celebrated for and so conceited about; and so help me, I do believe that if ever the day comes that its honesty falls under great temptation, its grand reputation will go to ruin like a house of cards.  There, now, I’ve made confession, and I feel better; I am a humbug, and I’ve been one all my life, without knowing it.  Let no man call me honest again—­I will not have it.”

“I—­Well, Mary, I feel a good deal as you do:  I certainly do.  It seems strange, too, so strange.  I never could have believed it—­never.”

A long silence followed; both were sunk in thought.  At last the wife looked up and said: 

“I know what you are thinking, Edward.”

Richards had the embarrassed look of a person who is caught.