At last Isabel was tired out with this method, and was desperate at the thought that Plausaby would return while yet the confession was incomplete.  So she determined to force Mrs. Plausaby to speak.

“Now, Mrs. Plausaby,” she said, “what did Uncle Plausaby say to you that made you take that letter of Smith Westcott’s?”

“I didn’t take it, did I?  How do you know?  I didn’t say so?”

“You have told me part, and if you tell me the rest I will keep it secret for the present.  If you don’t tell me, I shall tell Uncle Plausaby what I know, and tell him that he must tell me the rest.”

“You wouldn’t do that, Isabel?  You couldn’t do that.  Don’t do that,” begged the sick woman.

“Then tell me the truth,” she said with sternness.  “What made you take that land-warrant—­for you know you did, and you must not tell me a lie when you’re just going to die and go before God.”

“There now, Isa, I knew you would hate me.  That’s the reason why I can’t tell it.  Everybody has been looking so hateful at me ever since I took the letter, I mean ever since—­Oh!  I didn’t mean anything bad, but you know I have to do what Plausaby tells me I must do.  He’s such a man!  And then he was in trouble.  There was some old trouble from Pennsylvania.  The men came on here, and made him pay money, all the money he could get, to keep them from having him put in prison.  I don’t know what it was all about, you know, I never could understand about business, but here was Albert bothering him about money to pay for a warrant, and these men taking all his money, and here was a trial about some lots that he sold to that fat man with curly hair, and he was afraid Albert would swear against him about that and about the county-seat, and so he wanted to get him away.  And there was an awful bother about Katy and Westcott at the same time.  And I wanted a changeable silk dress, and he couldn’t get it for me because all his money was going to the men from Pennsylvania.  But—­I can’t tell you any more.  I’m afraid Plausaby might come.  You won’t tell, and you won’t hate me, Isa, dear—­now, will you?  You used to be good to me, but you won’t be good to me any more!”

“I’ll always love you if you only tell me the rest.”

“No, I can’t.  For you see Plausaby didn’t mean any harm, and I didn’t mean any harm.  Plausaby wanted Albert to go away so they couldn’t get Albert to swear against him.  It was all Albert’s fault, you know—­he had such notions.  But he was a good boy, and I can’t sleep at night now for seeing him behind a kind of a grate, and he seems to be pointing his finger at me and saying, ‘You put me in here.’  But I didn’t.  That’s one of his notions.  It was Plausaby made me do it.  And he didn’t mean any harm.  He said Westcott would soon be his son-in-law.  He had helped Westcott to get the claim anyhow.  It was only borrowing a little from his own son-in-law.  He said that I must get the letter out of the office when Albert did not