ood-by. Don't be afraid."

She was gone so softly that Hilda did not see her go. She had been
staring off into that ocean of space, and when she turned her head the
woman was gone. But her influence was left in the very air. Her words
went on whispering about the room. Under their influence the girl rose,
tottered to the bed, gathered the sleeping baby to her young bosom,
kissed his brow without waking him, and stumbled to the window.

She pushed it as high as it would go and knelt on the ledge, peering
down into the street. It was a fearful distance to the walk.

She hoped she would not strike the stone steps or the area rail. And yet
what difference would it make? It would only assure her peace the
quicker. She must wait for those people below to walk past. But they
were not gone before others were there. She could not hurl herself upon
them.

As she waited, it grew terrible to take the plunge. She had always been
afraid of high places. She grew dizzy now, and must cling hard to keep
from falling before she said her prayers and was ready. And, now the
pavement was clear. She kissed her baby again. She drew in a deep
breath, her last sip of the breath of life. How good it was, this clear,
cool air flowing across this great, beautiful, heartless city that she
should never see again! And now--

There was a knock at the door. It checked her. She lost impulse and
impetus and crept back and sank into a chair. She was pretending to be
rocking the baby to sleep when she murmured, "Come in."

Perhaps it would be Mrs. Elsbree, returned to reproach her for her
cowardice and her delay. But when she dared to look up it was another
woman. At least it was another voice--perhaps Miss Marland's.

"I've been meaning to call on you, Mrs. Emerton, but I haven't had a
free moment. Of course I've known all along why you were here. We all
have. There's been a good deal of backbiting. But that's the
boarding-house of it. This evening, at dinner, there was some mention of
you at the table, and some of the women were ridiculing you and some
were condemning you. Oh, don't wince, my dear; everybody is always being
ridiculed or condemned or both for something. If you were one of the
saints they would burn you at the stake or put you to the torture.

"Anyway, I spoke up and told them that the only one who had a right to
cast a stone at you was one without sin, and I despaired of finding such
a person in this boarding-house--or outside, eit