e hurrying along in shabby dress and mean attire is a
fragile delicate woman whose garb shows evidences of much mending and
patient darning, but the shabby dress cannot hide the fact that here is
a _lady_, as with easy grace she moves down the street.

The afternoon is somewhat advanced and the occasional glimpses which we
get of the flower girl show that her basket has been replenished but she
does not move quite so quickly as in the morning. Her limbs are getting
weary, and there is a pathetic little note in her voice now as she
offers her flowers for sale.

But see! on the bridge is the figure of a woman. No need to hear her
history, the face tells its own story of sin and misery. She is looking
down at the river which flows sluggishly on; down perhaps at her own
reflection in the water, down perhaps deeper still into her own soul.
The face is hardened and set and there is scarcely a trace of womanly
likeness left. A life of sin and shame has almost obliterated all that
is good in her nature, almost I say, for no one, no matter how low or
degraded, can be wholly bad. But here it is difficult to discern one
soft look, as she leans wearily over the railing of the bridge--a
silent, sad, sin-stained creature. Soon there is a sound of wheels and
gay laughter and a carriage rolls by, and there can be no mistaking the
nature and errand of the occupants. A young girl, with sweet, pure face,
all in white, with white flowers in her hair and carrying a bouquet of
white flowers in her hand, is being driven towards the church. Passing
the solitary woman on the bridge she picks a beautiful flower from the
bouquet she is carrying and tosses it at her feet, for she wishes to-day
to make all whom she sees as happy as herself. A little of the hard
look leaves the woman's face as she stoops to pick the flower.
Mechanically she follows the carriage, with stealthy steps and bated
breath she enters the church, choosing a dark corner where she will not
be observed, she sits listening to the clergyman as he proceeds with the
marriage rites and not until all is over and the lovely bride is passing
down the aisle on the arm of her husband, does she dare to raise her
eyes, and as she does so they meet the pure frank gaze of the lovely
girl who smiles in her face as she recognizes the woman to whom she
threw the flower.

The woman sits in her dark corner. Of what can she be thinking? Her head
is bowed and on her face is a look of agony. What