In a quick vision, as she stood stone-still, Maria saw herself alone in
the chapel by night, prostrate, repentant, washing the altar steps with
tears, forgiven of God, since God could still forgive her, honoured on
earth as before, since none but the silent confessor could ever know
what she had done, still less what she had meant to do. Her sorrow would
be real, overwhelming, able to move Heaven to mercy, her penance
true-hearted and severe as she deserved. Her name would be unspotted and
unblemished.

It would be so easy, if she had not to see him again. How could she
resist him, if he could so much as touch her hand? But if she were
defended from him, she could bury his love and pray for him in the
memory of the thing dead. All that, if she but let that heavy breathing
go on a little longer, if she did not raise her hand and set a glass to
those grey, parted lips.

They were parted now. The laboured breath was drawn through the teeth.
The eyelids were a little raised, and showed but the white of the
upturned eyes.

Maria stared fixedly into the pinched face, and a new horror came upon
her.

It was murder she was doing. Nothing less. The power to save was there,
and she would not use it. No--it could not be murder--it was not
possible that she could do murder.

Still with wide eyes she stared. Surely the heavy breath had come more
quickly a moment ago. It seemed an age between each rise and fall of the
coverlet. There was a ghastly whistling sound of it between the teeth.

It was slower still. The eyelids were gradually opening--the blind white
was horrible to see. Each breath was a convulsion that shook the frail
body.

It was murder. Her hand shot out like lightning and seized the small
bottle. Let anything come,--love, shame, heaven, damnation; it should
not be murder.

She forced the unstoppered bottle into the dying woman's mouth with a
desperate hand. The next breath was drawn with a choking effort. The
whole body stirred. The thin hand appeared, grasped the coverlet with
distorting energy, and then lay almost still, twitching convulsively
second by second. Still Maria tried wildly to pour more of the stimulant
between the set teeth. When they parted, no breath came, and the fingers
only moved once more, for the very last time.

It was not murder, but it was death. The wasted old woman had outlived
by two or three hours the strong, young peasant girl, and fate had laid
her hand heavily upon the life