I to do with this sweet, cold body? I cried until I was almost
blind; in the whole wide world there was no one so utterly desolate and
wretched. I cried aloud to Heaven to help me--where should I bury my
little child? I cannot tell how the idea first occurred to me. The waves
came in with a soft, murmuring melody, a sweet, silvery hush, and I
thought the deep, green sea would make a grave for my little one. It was
mad and wicked I know now; I can see how horrible it was; it did not
seem to be so then. I only thought of the sea then as my best friend,
the place where I was to hide the beloved little body, the clear, green
grave where she was to sleep until the Judgment Day. I waited until--it
is a horrible thing to tell you! but I fell asleep--fast asleep, and of
all the horrors in my story, the worst part is that, sitting by the sea,
fast asleep myself, with my little, dead babe on my knee.

"When I awoke the tide was coming in full and soft, and swift-running
waves, the sun had set, and a thick, soft gloom had fallen over
everything, and then I knew the time had come for what I wanted to do."

CHAPTER XII.

"I went on to the Chain Pier. I had kissed the little face for the last
time; I had wrapped the pretty white body in the black-and-gray shawl. I
said all the prayers I could remember as I walked along the pier; it was
the most solemn of burial services to me.

"I went to the side of the pier--I cannot understand how it was that I
did not see you--I stood there some few minutes, and then I took the
little bundle; I raised it gently and let it fall into the sea. But my
baby was dead--I swear to that. Oh, Heaven! if I dared--if I dared fling
myself in the same green, briny waves!

"I was mad with anguish. I went back to my lodging; the landlady asked
me if I had left the baby in Brighton, and I answered 'Yes.' I do not
know how the days went on--I could not tell you; I was never myself, nor
do I remember much until some weeks afterward I went home to my
grandmother, who died soon after I reached her. I need not tell you that
afterwards I met Lance, and learned to love him with all my heart.

"Do not tell him; promise me, I beseech you, for mercy's sake, do not
tell him!"

"What you have told me," I said, "certainly gives a different aspect to
the whole affair. I will make no promise--I will think it over. I must
have time to decide what is best."

"You will spare me," she went on. "You see I did no one