ight, and, seizing the food, she
sank weakly upon the box and began gnawing at it; but her toothless
jaws, stiff with cold, made no impression upon the tough meat and hard
crust, and letting them drop to the floor, the poor creature fell to
rocking to and fro, whimpering tearlessly, like a suffering dog.
Strangely enough, within the withered bosom of this most wretched
creature there had welled up, from some hidden source of womanly
feeling, a passionate self-pity, a no less passionate self-loathing.
This was what a moment's contact with all that she had so long
abjured--purity, order, gentleness--had brought to pass.

That fair young girl-tall, pale, sweet as an Easter lily--stood before
her like an incarnate memory, pointing toward the past, the far-distant
past, when she, too, was young, and pretty, and innocent, and gay--too
pretty and too gay for a poor working girl! That was where the trouble
began.

"I was light haired, too," moaned old Marg, twisting her withered
fingers restlessly. "Light-haired, and light-complected! A pretty girl,
an' a good girl, too! Not like _her_. No! How could I be? Little the
likes o' her knows what the likes o' me has to face! Lord!"

The bit of candle guttered and went out. The cold increased. It had
ceased snowing, and a keen wind had arisen, tearing the clouds into
shreds through which the stars gleamed. And presently the moon climbed
up behind the belfry of the old church across the square, and sent one
broad white ray through the dingy window and across the floor. All at
once the great bell began to strike the midnight hour, its mingled
vibrations filling the garret with tumultuous sounds. The vision of the
fair girl faded, and old Marg was herself again, a hard, bitter,
rebellious old woman, with a burning care where her heart had been, and
only one thought, one desire, left in her desperate mind--the thought
and the desire of death.

In young and passionate days she had often thought of seeking that way
out of life's agonies, but at its worst there is always some sweetness
left in the cup--when one is young! It was not so now. The dregs only
had been hers for many a year, and she had enough. Death--yes, that was
best.

Her eyes glittered as she cast a look about the silent room. Bare, even
of the means to this end! Ah, the window!

With an inarticulate cry the woman arose and hobbled along the shining
moon-ray to the window, and threw open the sash. Awed by the stern
bea