ed without reproach the poor dead sister whom the hard world had
crushed and scorned, sad tears that fell on his passion like rain on fire
and left in him only a yearning desire to be a comforter. Nellie,
snatching her hands away, pressed them to her mouth to stifle the frantic
sobs that began to shake her, long awful sobs that drew breath whistling
through clenched fingers. And Ned, drawing her to him, laid her head on
his shoulder, stroking her hair as a mother does, kissing her temple with
loving, passionless kisses, striving to comfort her with tender brotherly
words, to still her wild cries and frantic sobs in all unselfishness.
There were none to see them in all this moonlit city. The wearied
toilers, packed around them, slumbered or tossed unconsciously. Above
them, serene and radiant, the full moon swam on amid the stars.

"She was so good, Ned," cried Nellie, choking, with sobs, almost
inarticulate, pouring out to him the pent-up thinking of long years. "She
was so good. And so kind. Don't you remember her, Ned? Such a sweet girl,
she was. It killed her, Ned. This cruel, cruel life killed her. But
before it killed her--oh!--oh!--oh!--oh! Why are we ever born?
Why are we ever born?"

It was heart-rending, her terrible grief, her abandonment of anguish
which she vainly endeavoured to thrust back into her throat. With all her
capacity for passionate love she bewailed her sister's fate. Ned,
striving to soothe her, all the while mingled his tears with hers. A
profound sadness overshadowed him. He felt all his hopes numbed and
palsied in the face of this omnipotent despair. This girl who was dead
seemed for the time the symbol of what Life is. He had hated Society,
hated it, but as its blackest abyss opened at his very feet his hate
passed from him. He only felt an utter pity for all things, a desire to
weep over the helpless hopelessness of the world.

Nellie quieted at last. Her sobs ceased to shake her, her tears dried on
her pale face, but still she rested her head on Ned as if finding
strength and comfort in him. Her eyelids were closed except for an
occasional belated lingering sob she might have been asleep. Her grief
had exhausted her. At last a coming footfall roused her. She raised her
head, putting her hands instinctively to her hat and hair, pulling
herself together with a strong breath.

"You are very kind to me, Ned," she said, softly. "I've been so silly but
I'm better now. I don't often carry on l