gain in this world!"

The tears were rolling down her cheeks, and she sobbed aloud as she
spoke. He reached his arms toward her, but she moved away, sitting
silent until she regained such composure as would permit her to go on.

"The first thing I remember in my life, I must have been about three,
was my father's beating his head against the wall of the room in which I
was sleeping because my mother had left him. After that I became used to
anything--to sudden moves in the dark; to being alone with him through
the long nights when he had been drinking; to poverty, to black poverty
that means not enough to eat nor enough clothes to keep one warm; to
years and years of want and despair and misery. As I grew older and went
to the convent schools, some of the girls invited me home with them. It
was because of my looks and my voice, you know." There was sweet
humility in the statement, as though apologizing for the fact that she
had been desired. "And they were quite kind. Their parents liked me, and
one of them, I remember, said: 'She has a beautiful manner, which is
wonderful considering she is little better than a child of the streets.'
I could not feel even then how I was to blame for my birth, seeing that
it was a thing arranged for me by the good God. But I learned what to
expect.

"As father grew worse and less able to care for himself, it was
necessary to have money. Mr. Ravenel, I have been a beggar in the
streets! I have sung in the streets, I! in the court-yards of the
hotels, for money to keep from starving! So you will see sorrow is no
new thing to me. I do not question it. I have had in my life three
perfectly happy months, perfectly happy. It is as much as a woman can
expect, perhaps, and though it kill me, though it kill me, I shall never
regret having known and loved you." She paused a minute. "When one has
to die it is best to go quickly, is it not? When there is some terrible
thing in life to do, it were best done quickly as well. Good-bye," she
said, putting out her hand.

He shook his head. "If I touch you I shall not go. Oh, Katrine, Katrine,
Katrine! Do you know what I am doing? I am going when I could stay,
stay, or take you with me! Will you remember it in the years to come,
when you are older and will understand what it means? Will you, oh, for
God's sake, Katrine, remember that there was still some little good in
me, that although I did not do the best I could have done for you, at
least I kept