dread. It
is physical, Monica, and in your case there is so little relief from
dark brooding. But again you must think of your responsibility. You
will live, because the poor little life will need your care.'

Monica turned her head away and moaned.

'I shall not love my child.'

'Yes, you will. And that love, that duty, is the life to which you must
look forward. You have suffered a great deal, but after such sorrow as
yours there comes quietness and resignation. Nature will help you.'

'Oh, if you could give me some of _your_ strength! I have never been
able to look at life as you do. I should never have married him if I
hadn't been tempted by the thoughts of living easily--and I feared
so--that I might always be alone--My sisters are so miserable; it
terrified me to think of struggling on through life as they do--'

'Your mistake was in looking only at the weak women. You had other
examples before you--girls like Miss Vesper and Miss Haven, who live
bravely and work hard and are proud of their place in the world. But
it's idle to talk of the past, and just as foolish to speak as if you
were sorrowing without hope. How old are you, Monica?'

'Two-and-twenty.'

'Well, I am two-and-thirty--and I don't call myself old. When you have
reached my age I prophesy you will smile at your despair of ten years
ago. At your age one talks so readily of "wrecked life" and "hopeless
future," and all that kind of thing. My dear girl, you may live to be
one of the most contented and most useful women in England. Your life
isn't wrecked at all--nonsense! You have gone through a storm, that's
true; but more likely than not you will be all the better for it. Don't
talk or think about _sins_; simply make up your mind that you won't be
beaten by trials and hardships. There cannot--can there?--be the least
doubt as to how you ought to live through these next coming months.
Your duty is perfectly clear. Strengthen yourself in body and mind. You
_have_ a mind, which is more than can be said of a great many women.
Think bravely and nobly of yourself! Say to yourself: This and that it
is in me to do, and I will do it!'

Monica bent suddenly forward and took one of her friend's hands, and
clung to it.

'I knew you could say something that would help me. You have a way of
speaking. But it isn't only now. I shall be so far away, and so lonely,
all through the dark winter. Will you write to me?'

'Gladly. And tell you all we are doing.'