s whose windows looked down on such scenes.

But the sight that stirred me most (though it did not awaken my charity,
which shows what a lean-souled thing I was myself) was that of the
"public women," the street-walkers, as I used to call them, whom I saw
in Piccadilly with their fine clothes and painted faces, sauntering in
front of the clubs or tripping along with a light step and trying to
attract the attention of the men.

I found no pathos in the position of such women. On the contrary, I had
an unspeakable horror and hatred and loathing of them, feeling that no
temptation, no poverty, no pressure that could ever be brought to bear
upon a woman in life or in death excused her for committing so great a
wrong on the sanctity of her sex as to give up her womanhood at any call
but that of love.

"Nothing could make me do it," I used to think, "nothing in this world."

But O God! how little I knew then what is in a woman's heart to do when
she has a child to live for, and is helpless and alone!

I cannot expect anybody to forgive me for what I did (or attempted to
do), and now that the time has come to tell of it my hand trembles, and
body and soul seem to be quivering like a flame.

May God (who has brought everything to such a glorious end) have mercy
on me and forgive me, and help me to be true!

NINETY-NINTH CHAPTER

The worst consequence of my West End journeys was that my nightly visits
to Ilford were fewer than before, and that the constant narrowing of the
margin between my income and my expenses made it impossible for me to go
there during the day.

As a result my baby received less and less attention, and I could not be
blind to the fact that she was growing paler and thinner.

At length she developed a cough which troubled me a great deal. Mrs.
Oliver made light of it, saying a few pennyworths of paregoric would
drive it away, so I hurried off to a chemist, who recommended a soothing
syrup of his own, saying it was safer and more effectual for a child.

The syrup seemed to stop the cough but to disturb the digestion, for I
saw the stain of curdled milk on baby's bib and was conscious of her
increasing weakness.

This alarmed me very much, and little as I knew of children's ailments,
I became convinced that she stood in need of more fresh air, so I
entreated Mrs. Oliver to take her for a walk every day.

I doubt if she ever did so, for as often as I would say:

"Has baby been out to-day