and terrible. If she was to escape there was but one
thing to do. Suddenly her own words came back to her:

"All we can do is to hold to what we know is right, and trust that
everything will come well in the end."

She knew what was right, and she had the strength to hold to it. Then
all at once there came to Lloyd a grand, breathless sense of uplifting,
almost a transfiguration. She felt herself carried high above the sphere
of little things, the region of petty considerations What did she care
for consequences, what mattered to her the unjust condemnation of her
world, if only she remained true to herself, if only she did right? What
did she care for what she gained? It was no longer a question of gain or
loss--it was a question of being true and strong and brave. The conflict
of that day at Medford between the man's power and the woman's
resistance had been cruel, the crisis had been intense, and though she
had been conquered then, had it, after all, been beyond recall? No, she
was not conquered. No, she was not subdued. Her will had not been
broken, her courage had not been daunted, her strength had not been
weakened. Here was the greater fight, here was the higher test. Here was
the ultimate, supreme crisis of all, and here, at last, come what might,
she would not, would not, would not fail.

As soon as Lloyd reached this conclusion she sat about carrying her
resolution into effect.

"If I don't do it now while I'm strong," she told herself, "if I wait, I
never will do it."

Perhaps there was yet a touch of the hysterical in her actions even
then. The jangled feminine nerves were yet vibrating far above their
normal pitch; she was overwrought and oversensitive, for just as a
fanatic rushes eagerly upon the fire and the steel, preferring the more
exquisite torture, so Lloyd sought out the more painful situation, the
more trying ordeal, the line of action that called for the greatest
fortitude, the most unflinching courage.

She chose to make known her real position, to correct the false
impression at a time when all the nurses of the house should be
together. This would be at supper-time. Since her return from Medford,
Lloyd had shut herself away from the other inmates of the house, and had
taken her meals in her room. With the exception of Miss Douglass and the
superintendent nurse no one had seen her. She had passed her time lying
at full length upon her couch, her hands clasped behind her head, or
pacing