My heart went out to her in fullness of pity--poor, unhappy woman!
sobbing her heart out; weeping, as surely no one ever wept before. I
wished that Heaven had made anyone else her judge than me. Then she sat
up facing me, and I wondered what the judge must think when the sentence
of death passes his lips. I knew that this was the sentence of death for
this woman.

"You never knew what passed after, did you?" I asked.

"No--not at all," was the half sullen reply--"not at all."

"Did you never purchase a Brighton paper, or look into a London paper to
see?"

"No," she replied.

"Then I will tell you," I said, and I told her all that had passed. How
the people had stood round the little baby, and the men cursed the cruel
hands that had drowned the little babe.

"Did they curse my hands?" she asked, and I saw her looking at them in
wonder.

"Yes; the men said hard words, but the women were pitiful and kind; one
kissed the little face, dried it, and kissed it with tears in her eyes.
Was it your own child?"

There was a long pause, a long silence, a terrible few minutes, and then
she answered:

"Yes, it was my child!"

Her voice was full of despair; she folded her hands and laid them on her
lap.

"I knew it must come," she said. "Now, let me try to think what I must
do. I meet now that which I have dreaded so long. Oh, Lance! my love,
Lance! my love, Lance! You will not tell him?" she cried, turning to me
with impassioned appeal. "You will not!--you could not break his heart
and mine!--you could not kill me! Oh, for Heaven's sake, say you will
not tell him?"

Then I found her on her knees at my feet, sobbing passionate cries--I
must not tell him, it would kill him, She must go away, if I said she
must; she would go from the heart and the home where she had nestled in
safety so long; she would die; she would do anything, if only I would
not tell him. He had loved and trusted her so--she loved him so dearly.
I must not tell. If I liked, she would go to the river and throw herself
in. She would give her life freely, gladly--if only I would not tell
him.

So I sat holding, as it were, the passionate, aching heart in my hand.

"You must calm yourself," I said. "Let us talk reasonably. We cannot
talk while you are like this."

She beat her white hands together, and I could not still her cries; they
were all for "Lance!"--"her love, Lance!"

CHAPTER XI.

"You must listen to me," I said; "I want you to