This when the Justice heard, he raised his hands,
  And held them as the dead in effigy
Hold theirs, when carved upon a tomb.  The bands
  Of fate had bound him fast:  no remedy
Was left:  his voice unto himself was strange,
And that unearthly vision did not change.

He said, “That woman dwells anear my door,
  Her life and mine began the selfsame day,
And I am hale and hearty:  from my store
  I never spared her aught:  she takes her way
Of me unheeded; pining, pinching care
Is all the portion that she has to share.

“She is a broken-down, poor, friendless wight,
  Through labor and through sorrow early old;
And I have known of this her evil plight,
  Her scanty earnings, and her lodgment cold;
A patienter poor soul shall ne’er be found: 
She labored on my land the long year round.

“What wouldst thou have me say, thou fiend abhorred? 
  Show me no more thine awful visage grim. 
If thou obey’st a greater, tell thy lord
  That I have paid her wages.  Cry to him! 
He has not much against me.  None can say
I have not paid her wages day by day.

“The spell!  It draws me.  I must speak again;
  And speak against myself; and speak aloud. 
The woman once approached me to complain,—­
  ‘My wages are so low.’  I may be proud;
It is a fault.”  “Ay,” quoth the Phantom fell,
“Sinner! it is a fault:  thou sayest well.”

“She made her moan, ‘My wages are so low.’”
  “Tell on!” “She said,” he answered, “’My best days
Are ended, and the summer is but slow
  To come; and my good strength for work decays
By reason that I live so hard, and lie
On winter nights so bare for poverty.’”

“And you replied,”—­began the lowering shade,
  “And I replied,” the Justice followed on,
“That wages like to mine my neighbor paid;
  And if I raised the wages of the one
Straight should the others murmur; furthermore,
The winter was as winters gone before.

“No colder and not longer.”  “Afterward?”—­
  The Phantom questioned.  “Afterward,” he groaned,
“She said my neighbor was a right good lord,
  Never a roof was broken that he owned;
He gave much coal and clothing.  ’Doth he so? 
Work for my neighbor, then,’ I answered.  ’Go!

“‘You are full welcome.’  Then she mumbled out
  She hoped I was not angry; hoped, forsooth,
I would forgive her:  and I turned about,
  And said I should be angry in good truth
If this should be again, or ever more
She dared to stop me thus at the church door.”

“Then?” quoth the Shade; and he, constrained, said on,
  “Then she, reproved, curtseyed herself away.” 
“Hast met her since?” it made demand anon;
  And after pause the Justice answered, “Ay;
Some wood was stolen; my people made a stir: 
She was accused, and I did sentence her.”

But yet, and yet, the dreaded questions came: 
  “And didst thou weigh the matter,—­taking thought
Upon her sober life and honest fame?”
  “I gave it,” he replied, with gaze distraught;
“I gave it, Fiend, the usual care; I took
The usual pains; I could not nearer look,