rthly joys of which few men drink, had been rudely dashed
from her lips.

So this was the reward that had been reserved for her who had been
endowed with wealth and position, and who was the fairest and best this
civilization could produce? Fate had been kind to her merely in order
that she might realize to the utmost the bitterness and emptiness of
life.

Life--what did it mean, what did it hold for her now? She knew as well
as Captain Forest did that, strong though she was, she was nevertheless
too weak to share with him the life he had chosen. Civilization and
culture had prepared her for everything but that; the one vital
essential which nature alone can give to man was lacking. After all she
was but a poor, helpless creature, incapable of meeting and being
satisfied with the simple demands occasioned by the natural conditions
of man's surroundings. Neither could she return to the old life again,
now that it was shorn of its vital interest, and year after year cast
her bread upon the waters in the uncertain pursuit of happiness, only to
reap the harvest of dead-sea fruit that is ever borne in on the shallow
tides of worldliness.

She recognized in herself the victim of a system of lies and frauds, a
world of artificiality, deceit and tawdry tinsel, a life which, in spite
of the good it contains, makes weaklings of men. Thanks to her
bringing-up, the sunland of love, that valley of the earthly paradise,
was closed to her forever. She cursed this world of hypocrisy and
deception and all it contained--her friends and acquaintances and the
memory of her father and mother, who unabashed, had perverted the pure,
unsullied gaze of the child, directed its steps in the paths trodden by
its degenerate forefathers, taught it to regard falsehood in the light
of truth.

Let the world cry out in protest--say they did their best. The world
lies, and knows it lies. They did not do their best. They followed the
dictates of selfishness, despicable, inherent weakness. But why had
this come to her who had been a willing instrument, who had lent
herself to the dictates of this world and who, of all others, was the
most fit to grace it?

"I curse you--curse you!" she cried aloud, springing to her feet in a
fresh paroxysm and frenzy, flinging her clenched hands aloft, her
features livid with rage. But what did her mingled transports of grief
and pain and anger avail her? There was no redress, no appeal from the
decision of destiny.