p with the tears of sleep. She was numb
from the drawing of tight clothing, and with a great mental pain and a
confused sense of sadness, that weighed on her like a tangible thing.
Her mind groped uncertainly for a moment; then, with a great rush, the
past night and the things before it returned to her.

"Oh, God, Thy injustice to us women!" she moaned.

The words roused her; and, craving companionship, she rose and lit the
gas.

Back and forth she crossed the room, avoiding the furniture as by
instinct--one moment smiling, bitter; the next with face moving,
uncontrollable, and eyes damp: all the moods, the passions of a
woman's soul showing here where none other might see. Tired out, at
last, she stopped and disrobed, swiftly, without a glance at her own
reflection, and returned to bed.

Nature will not be forced. Sleep will not come again. She can only
think, and thoughts are madness. She gets up and moves to her desk.
Aimlessly at first, as a respite, she begins to write. Her thoughts
take words as she writes, and a great determination, an impulse of the
moment, comes to her. She takes up fresh paper and writes sheet after
sheet, swiftly. Passion sways the hand that writes, and shines warmly
from the big, brown eyes. The first light of morning stains the east
as she collects the scattered sheets, and writes a name on the
envelope, a name which brings a tenderness to her eyes. Stealthily she
tiptoes down the stairs and places the letter where the servant will
see, and mail it in the early morning. A glad light, the light of
relief, is in her face as she steals back slowly and creeps into bed.

"If it is wrong I couldn't help it," she whispers low. She turns her
face to the pillow and covers it with a soft, white arm. One ear alone
shows, a rosy spot against the white.

II

Nine o'clock at a down-town medical office. A man who walks rapidly,
but quietly, enters and takes up the morning mail. A number of
business letters he finds and a dainty envelope, with writing which he
knows at sight. He steps to the light and looks at the postmark.

"Good-morning," says his partner, entering.

The man nods absently, and, tearing open the envelope, takes out this
letter:

"MY FRIEND:--

"I don't know what you will think of me after this; anyway, I
cannot help telling you what to-night lies heavy on my heart and
mind. I've tried to keep still; God knows I've tried, and so
hard; but Nature is Nature, and