issed the boy absently and sat down. The crisis seemed
drawing near. She had not dreamed the Tolliver place was for sale. The
old man must be hard pressed to sell to the Cresswells.

She started up. Why not go see him? Perhaps a mortgage on the strength
of the endowment? It was dangerous--but--

She threw a veil over her hair, and opened the door. A woman stood
there, who shrank and cowered, as if used to blows. Miss Smith eyed her
grimly, then slowly stepped back.

"Come in," she commanded briefly, motioning the woman to a chair.

But she stood, a pathetic figure, faded, worn, yet with unmistakable
traces of beauty in her golden face and soft brown hair. Miss Smith
contemplated her sadly. Here was her most haunting failure, this girl
whom she first had seen twelve years ago in her wonderful girlish
comeliness. She had struggled and fought for her, but the forces of the
devil had triumphed. She caught glimpses of her now and then, but today
was the first time she had spoken to her for ten years. She saw the
tears that gathered but did not fall; then her hands quivered.

"Bertie," she began brokenly. The girl shivered, but stood aloof.

"Miss Smith," she said. "No--don't talk--I'm bad--but I've got a little
girl, Miss Smith, ten years old, and--and--I'm afraid for her; I want
you to take her."

"I have no place for one so young. And why are you afraid for her?"

"The men there are beginning to notice her."

"Where?"

"At Elspeth's."

"Do you stay there now?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"_He_ wants me to."

"Must you do as he wants?"

"Yes. But I want the child--different."

"Don't _you_ want to be different?"

The woman quivered again but she answered steadily: "No."

Miss Smith sank into a chair and moistened her dry lips.

"Elspeth's is an awful place," she affirmed solemnly.

"Yes."

"And Zora?"

"She is not there much now, she stays away."

"But if she escapes, why not you?"

"She wants to escape."

"And you?"

"I don't want to."

This stubborn depravity was so distressing that Sarah Smith was at an
utter loss what to say or do.

"I can do nothing--" she began.

"For me," the woman quickly replied; "I don't ask anything; but for the
child,--she isn't to blame."

The older woman wavered.

"Won't you try?" pleaded the younger.

"Yes--I'll try, I'll try; I am trying all the time, but there are more
things than my weak strength can do. Good-bye."

Miss Smith stood a long time in the d