overwhelming tragedy.

"They made me marry him," said Gabrielle, clutching at her hand. "They
made me. I didn't understand. It was cruel. It would have been better
if I had died like my baby."

She relapsed into tears, and Mrs. Payne, quite bowled over by the
piteousness of her case, tried to soothe her with caresses. It was a
curious end, she reflected, to the punitive expedition on which she had
set forth. Holding Gabrielle triumphantly in her arms she did not
realize the mistake that she had made. It wasn't the end at all, it was
merely the beginning.

"You see what a terrible time I've had," Gabrielle pleaded, drying her
tears. "I always felt that you were the only person I could talk to
about these things. I knew you would sympathize ... you're so human.
Now you can understand why I can't live without Arthur. Do you see?"
She looked up, pleading, into Mrs. Payne's eyes.

Her quiet words staggered that good woman. She had to pull herself
together and begin all over again. It wasn't easy, for the sympathetic
mood into which the girl's story had betrayed her had subtly weakened her
purpose. She felt that her position was false. She must reassert
herself, and so she hurriedly freed herself from Gabrielle's arms and
stood with her back to the door. Gabrielle too rose and faced her. Her
tears had put an end to the dreamy mood in which Mrs. Payne had found her
at first. Now she was determined, dangerous, ready to fight with all the
quickness of her wits and the suppleness of her youth against the elder
woman's dogged devotion. They faced one another, ready to fight to the
end, for the possession of the thing they each loved best, and both of
them realized the bitter nature of the struggle.

"We can't speak of that again," said Mrs. Payne. "I thought that was
understood. Surely you didn't imagine that by playing on my feelings you
could make me change my mind? I'm sorry you misunderstood me. I will
write to your husband to-morrow. For Arthur's sake I hope you won't tell
him the real explanation of your going back, and of Arthur's staying
here. I think you owe that to us ... even if you don't realise that it's
also the best for yourself." She turned towards the door. "I think we
had better say good-night. There is a train at seven-fifty in the
morning. I'm sorry it's so early, but there's no other. As I may not
see you again I'll say good-bye now. There's no reason why we shouldn't
part f