onths past; yet when I saw Etta I
realized I had gone but a little way on the long and lonely road
awaiting if I were to do my part. And then I remembered Harrie. He
had gone back to the proudest, haughtiest home in town; and Etta--where
could Etta go?

Hatless, and in a shabby dress, with her short, dark, curly hair parted
on the side, she looked even younger than when I had first seen her,
but about her twisting mouth were lines that hardened it, and in her
opalescent eyes, which now shot flame and fire and now paled with
weariness, I saw that which made me know in bitter knowledge she was
old and could never again be young. Youth and its rights for her were
gone beyond returning.

She would not sit down; grew rigid when I tried to make her. "You want
to see me?" She looked from me to Mrs. Mundy and back again to me.
"What do you want to see me about? Why did you want me to come here?"

"We want to talk to you, to see what is best for you to do." I spoke
haltingly. It was difficult to speak at all with her eyes upon me.
They were strange eyes for a girl of eighteen.

"Best for me to do?" She laughed witheringly and turned from the fire,
her hands twisting in nervous movements. "There are only two things
ahead of me. Death--or worse. Which would you advise me--to do?"

Without waiting for answer the slight shoulders straightened and went
back. Scorn, hate, bitterness were in her unconscious pose, and from
her eyes came fire. "If you sent for me to preach you can quit before
you start. There ain't anything you can do for me. I'm done for.
What do people like you care what becomes of girls like us? Maybe we
send ourselves to hell, but you see to it that we stay there. You're
good at your job all right. I hate you--you good women! Hate you!"

I heard Mrs. Mundy's indrawn breath, saw her quick glance of shock and
distress, then I went over to Etta. She was trembling with hot emotion
long repressed, and, as one at bay, she drew back, reckless, defiant,
and breathing unsteadily.

"I do not wonder that you hate us. I am sorry--so sorry for you, Etta."

For a full minute she stared at me as if she had not heard aright and
the dull color in her face deepened into crimson, then with a spring
she was at the door, her face buried in her arms. Leaning heavily
against it, she made convulsive effort to keep back sound.

"Sorry--oh, my God!" In a heap she crumpled on the floor, her face
still hidden i