artly nude swelling breast heaves
tumultuously against his, face to face they whirl on, his limbs
interwoven with hers, his strong right arm around her yielding form, he
presses her to him until every curve in the contour of her body thrills
with the amorous contact. Her eyes look into his, but she sees nothing;
the soft music fills the room, but she hears it not; he bends her body
to and fro, but she knows it not; his hot breath, tainted with strong
drink, is on her hair and cheek, his lips almost touch her forehead, yet
she does not shrink; his eyes, gleaming with a fierce, intolerable lust,
gloat over her, yet she does not quail. She is filled with the rapture
of sin in its intensity; her spirit is inflamed with passion and lust
is gratified in thought. With a last low wail the music ceases, and the
dance for the night is ended, but not the evil work of the night.

The girl whose blood is hot from the exertion and whose every carnal
sense is aroused and aflame by the repetition of such scenes as we have
witnessed, is led to the ever-waiting carriage, where she sinks
exhausted on the cushioned seat. Oh, if I could picture to you the
fiendish look that comes into his eyes as he sees his helpless victim
before him. Now is his golden opportunity. He must not miss it, and he
does not, and that beautiful girl who entered the dancing school as pure
and innocent as an angel three months ago returns to her home that night
robbed of that most precious jewel of womanhood--virtue!

When she awakes the next morning to a realizing sense of her position
her first impulse is to self-destruction, but she deludes herself with
the thought that her "dancing" companion will right the wrong by
marriage, but that is the farthest from his thoughts, and he casts her
off--"_he_ wishes a pure woman for _his_ wife."

She has no longer any claim to purity; her self-respect is lost; she
sinks lower and lower; society shuns her, and she is to-day a brothel
inmate, the toy and plaything of the libertine and drunkard.

How can I picture to you the awful anguish of that mother's heart, the
sadness of that father's face, or the dreadful gloom which settles over
that once happy home. Neither their love nor their gold can repair the
damage done. Their sighs and tears cannot restore that virtue. It is
lost, gone forever. Ah, better, yes, infinitely better, would it have
been if instead of placing their only darling in the dancing school,
they had laid