hear.

"I won't plague you long, Anne," she said. "I haven't courage to go
out of the world as you seem to fear I shall; but I began my life
wretchedly, and wretchedly I am sentenced to end it."

It was of no use lecturing her again, for she closed her eyes.

I tucked her up as neatly as I could, and put her petticoat over her,
for the bedclothes were scanty, and her hands felt cold. She looked so
pretty and delicate as she fell asleep that it quite made my heart ache
to see her, after such talk as we had held together. I just waited long
enough to be quite sure that she was in the land of dreams, then emptied
the horrible laudanum bottle into the grate, took up her half-done work,
and, going out softly, left her for that night.

March 6th. Sent off a long letter to Robert, begging and entreating
him not to be so down-hearted, and not to leave America without
making another effort. I told him I could bear any trial except the
wretchedness of seeing him come back a helpless, broken-down man, trying
uselessly to begin life again when too old for a change.

It was not till after I had posted my own letter, and read over part of
Robert's again, that the suspicion suddenly floated across me, for the
first time, that he might have sailed for England immediately after
writing to me. There were expressions in the letter which seemed to
indicate that he had some such headlong project in his mind. And
yet, surely, if it were so, I ought to have noticed them at the first
reading. I can only hope I am wrong in my present interpretation of much
of what he has written to me--hope it earnestly for both our sakes.

This has been a doleful day for me. I have been uneasy about Robert and
uneasy about Mary. My mind is haunted by those last words of hers: "I
began my life wretchedly, and wretchedly I am sentenced to end it." Her
usual melancholy way of talking never produced the same impression on
me that I feel now. Perhaps the discovery of the laudanum-bottle is the
cause of this. I would give many a hard day's work to know what to do
for Mary's good. My heart warmed to her when we first met in the
same lodging-house two years ago, and, although I am not one of the
over-affectionate sort myself, I feel as if I could go to the world's
end to serve that girl. Yet, strange to say, if I was asked why I was so
fond of her, I don't think I should know how to answer the question.

March 7th. I am almost ashamed to write it down, even