see how truly this is
the work of Providence, and not of mere chance."

I told her how I often had been attracted to the pier; I told her all
that was said by the crowd around; of the man who carried the little
dead child to the work-house; of the tiny little body that lay in its
white dress in the bare, large, desolate room, and of the flowers that
the kindly matron had covered it with.

I told her how I had taken compassion on the forlorn little creature,
had purchased its grave, and of the white stone with "Marah" upon it.

"Marah, found drowned." And then, poor soul--poor, hapless soul, she
clung to my hands and covered them with kisses and tears.

"Did you--did you do that?" she moaned. "How good you are, but you will
not tell him. I was mad when I did that, mad as women often are, with
sorrow, shame and despair. I will suffer anything if you will only
promise not to tell Lance."

"Do you think it is fair," I asked, "that he should be so cruelly
deceived?--that he should lavish the whole love of his heart upon a
murderess?"

I shall not forget her. She sprang from the ground where she had been
kneeling and stood erect before me.

"No, thank Heaven! I am not that," she said; "I am everything else that
is base and vile, but not that."

"You were that, indeed," I replied. "The child you flung into the sea
was living, not dead."

"It was not living," she cried--"it was dead an hour before I reached
there."

"The doctors said--for there was an inquest on the tiny body--they said
the child had been drugged before it was drowned, but that it had died
from drowning."

"Oh, no, a thousand times!" she cried. "Oh, believe me, I did not
wilfully murder my own child--I did not, indeed! Let me tell you. You
are a just and merciful man, John Ford; let me tell you--you must hear
my story; you shall give me my sentence--I will leave it in your hands.
I will tell you all."

"You had better tell Lance, not me," I cried. "What can I do?"

"No; you listen; you judge. It may be that when you have heard all, you
will take pity on me; you may spare me--you may say to yourself that I
have been more sinned against than sinning--you may think that I have
suffered enough, and that I may live out the rest of my life with Lance.
Let me tell you, and you shall judge me."

She fell over on her knees again, rocking backwards and forwards.

"Ah, why," she cried--"why is the world so unfair?--why, when there is
sin and sorrow, wh