gain, for the whole of her pure and generous
nature rose-up in passionate repudiation of the man who could basely
purchase his own pleasure at the expense of a woman's soul, and she knew
that he had thenceforth lost all power over her. No opinion of his on
any matter of moral bearing could ever sway her again. The supreme scorn
of his conduct which she felt impelled her to choose her own line of
action, to make--or mar--for herself her own career.

It was one of those moments in which the action of others has an
unexpectedly vivifying result. We mortals may die, but our deed lives
after us, and is immortal, and bears fruit to all time, sometimes evil
and sometimes good. If the deed has been evil in the beginning, the
fruit is often such as we who did it would give our lives, if we had the
power, to destroy.

Thus Sydney's action had far-off issues which he could not foresee. It
ruled the whole course of his sister's afterlife.

There was a light shawl on Milly's thin shoulders. Lettice took one end
of it and drew it gently over the telltale locket. Then, unmindful of
Milly's start, and the feverish eagerness with which her trembling hand
thrust the likeness out of sight, she spoke in a very gentle tone: "You
will take cold if you are not more careful of yourself. Have you
thought, Milly, what you are to do now? You want to earn a living for
yourself and the child, do you not?"

Milly looked at her with frightened, hopeless eyes. Had Miss Lettice
seen the locket, and did she mean to cast her off for ever? She
stammered out some unintelligible words, but the fear that was uppermost
in her mind made her incapable of a more definite reply.

"You must do something for yourself. You do not expect to hear from your
child's father again, I suppose?" said Lettice.

"He said--he said--he would send me money--if I wanted it," said Milly,
putting up one hand to shade her burning face; "but I would rather not!"

"No, you are quite right. You had better take nothing more from
him--unless it is for the child. But I am thinking of yourself. I am
going back to London the day after to-morrow, and perhaps I may take a
small house again, as I did before. Will you come with me, Milly?"

This offer was too much for the girl's equanimity. She burst into tears
and sobbed vehemently, with her head upon her hands, for two or three
minutes.

"I couldn't," she said at last. "Oh, you're very good, Miss Lettice--and
it isn't that I wouldn'