her, for that matter. I
spoke up and told them that you were no worse than the others. They all
had their scandals, and I know most of them. There's some scandal about
everybody. We're all sinners--if you want to call it sin to follow your
most sacred instincts.

"Why should you be afraid of a little gossip or a few jokes or a little
abuse from a few hypocrites? They're all sinners--worse than you, too,
most of them, if the truth were known.

"Why blame yourself and call yourself a criminal? You loved the
boy--loved him too much, that's all. If you had been really wicked you
would have refused to love him or to give yourself up to his plea. If
you had been really bad you'd have known too much to have this child.
You'd have got rid of it at all costs.

"You are really a very good little woman with a passion for being a
mother. It's the world outside that's bad. Don't be ashamed before it.
Hold your head up. The world owes you a living, and it will pay it if
you demand it. It will pay for you and your child, too. Just demand your
rights. You'll soon find a place. You're too young and beautiful to be
neglected. You're young and beautiful and passionate. You can make some
man awfully happy. He'll be glad to have your baby and you--disgrace and
all. He may be very rich, too. Go find him. The baby may grow up to be a
wonderful man. You could make enough to give the boy every advantage and
a fine start in the world.

"The world is yours, if you'll only take it. Remember the Bible, 'Ask
and it shall be given unto you.' Think it over, my dear. Don't do
anything foolish or rash. You're too young and too beautiful. And now I
must ran along. Good-by and good luck."

While Hilda was breathing deep of this wine of hope and courage the
woman was gone.

Hilda glanced out of the window again. She shuddered. A moment more and
she would have been lying below there, broken, mangled,
unsightly--perhaps not dead, only crippled for life and arrested as a
suicide that failed; perhaps as a murderess, since the fall would surely
have killed her child--her precious child. She held him close, her great
man-baby, her son; he laughed, beat the air with his hands, chuckled,
and smote her cheek with palms like white roses. She would take him from
this gloomy place. She would go out and demand money, fine clothes,
attention.

She put on her hat, a very shabby little hat. She began to wrap the baby
in a heavy shawl. They would have finer things