moon shone
full on her face--ghastly, desperate and beautiful--he saw it as
plainly as I see the river here. He heard her as plainly as I hear the
river here. She cried aloud as she went away, 'Oh, my God, if I dare--if
I dare!' Can you tell what happened? Listen how wonderful are the ways
of God, who hates murder and punishes it. She flung the burden into the
sea, feeling sure it would sink; but it caught--the black and gray shawl
caught--on some hooks that had been driven into the outer woodwork of
the pier; it caught and hung there, the shawl moving to and fro with
every breath of wind and every wave."

Without a word or a cry she fell with her face in the grass. Oh, Heaven,
be pitiful to all who are stricken and guilty! I went on quickly:

"A boatman found it, and the bundle contained a little drowned child--a
fair waxen babe, beautiful even though it had lain in the salt, bitter
waters of the green sea all night. Now comes the horror, Mrs. Fleming.
When the man, who saw the scene went after some years to visit the
friend whom he loved so dearly, he recognized in that friend's wife the
woman who threw the child into the sea!"

Again came the sound that was like nothing human.

"What was that man to do?" I asked. "He could not be silent; the friend
who loved and trusted him must have been most basely deceived--he could
not hide a murder; yet the woman was so lovely, so lovable; she was
seemingly so good, so charitable, so devoted to her husband, that he was
puzzled, tortured; at last he resolved upon telling her. I have told
you."

Then silence, deep and awful, fell over us; it lasted until I saw that I
must break it. She lay motionless on the ground, her face buried in the
grass.

"What should you have done in that man's place, Mrs. Fleming?" I asked.

Then she raised her face; it was whiter, more despairing, more ghastly
than I had seen it on the pier.

"I knew it must come," she wailed. "Oh, Heaven, how often have I dreaded
this--I knew from the first."

"Then it was you?" I said.

"It was me," she replied. "I need not try to hide it any longer, why
should I? Every leaf on every tree, every raindrop that has fallen,
every wind that has whispered has told it aloud ever since. If I hide it
from you someone else will start up and tell. If I deny it, then the
very stones in the street will cry it out. Yes, it was me--wretched,
miserable me--the most miserable, the most guilty woman alive--it was
me."