ared. A great deal had happened in the
interval--a wild marching and countermarching of emotions, arguments,
ideas--a fury of insurgent impulses that fell back spent upon
themselves. She had tried, at first, to rally, to organize these chaotic
forces. There must be help somewhere, if only she could master the inner
tumult. Life could not be broken off short like this, for a whim, a
fancy; the law itself would side with her, would defend her. The law?
What claim had she upon it? She was the prisoner of her own choice: she
had been her own legislator, and she was the predestined victim of
the code she had devised. But this was grotesque, intolerable--a mad
mistake, for which she could not be held accountable! The law she had
despised was still there, might still be invoked... invoked, but to what
end? Could she ask it to chain Westall to her side? SHE had been
allowed to go free when she claimed her freedom--should she show less
magnanimity than she had exacted? Magnanimity? The word lashed her with
its irony--one does not strike an attitude when one is fighting for
life! She would threaten, grovel, cajole... she would yield anything to
keep her hold on happiness. Ah, but the difficulty lay deeper! The law
could not help her--her own apostasy could not help her. She was the
victim of the theories she renounced. It was as though some giant
machine of her own making had caught her up in its wheels and was
grinding her to atoms...

It was afternoon when she found herself out-of-doors. She walked with
an aimless haste, fearing to meet familiar faces. The day was radiant,
metallic: one of those searching American days so calculated to
reveal the shortcomings of our street-cleaning and the excesses of our
architecture. The streets looked bare and hideous; everything stared
and glittered. She called a passing hansom, and gave Mrs. Van Sideren's
address. She did not know what had led up to the act; but she found
herself suddenly resolved to speak, to cry out a warning. It was too
late to save herself--but the girl might still be told. The hansom
rattled up Fifth Avenue; she sat with her eyes fixed, avoiding
recognition. At the Van Siderens' door she sprang out and rang the bell.
Action had cleared her brain, and she felt calm and self-possessed. She
knew now exactly what she meant to say.

The ladies were both out... the parlor-maid stood waiting for a card.
Julia, with a vague murmur, turned away from the door and lingered a
m