To this she made no response. ‘Have you ever been on the sea, Mrs Graham?’ ‘Yes! once!’ with a shudder. ‘And did you like it?’ ‘Like it? Oh! for God’s sake, madam, don’t speak of it, for I cannot bear the thought even.’ ‘You were unfortunate, perhaps? You had experience of a storm? But the sea is not always rough, Mrs Graham.’ She was silent, and I looked in her face, and saw the tears streaming down it. ‘My dear girl,’ I said, placing my hand on her shoulder, ‘don’t think me unkind. I have guessed somewhat of your history, and I feel for you—oh, so deeply. Confide in me; my husband is a man of influence, and I may be of use to you. I see that you are superior to the position you hold, and I have conceived an interest in you. Don’t keep your sorrows locked in your own breast, or they will eat out your very heart and life.’ As I spoke she began to sob piteously. ‘You are not doing right by this poor little baby, nor his parents,’ I continued, ‘by brooding over a silent grief. You will injure his health, when perhaps if you will tell us all, we may be able to comfort you.’ ‘No one can comfort me, madam! I am beyond all relief.’ ‘No one dare say that in this world, which God rules according to His will. You cannot tell what solace He may hold in the future for you.’ ‘I have no future,’ she said sadly. ‘If you think I am likely to injure this little one,’ pressing it tightly to her bosom, ‘I am very, very sorry; but to have something to love and care for, seemed to be the only thing to prevent my going mad.’ ‘Mrs Graham, I don’t wish to be impertinently curious, but I want to hear your story. Won’t you tell it to me?’ ‘If you do, you will hate me—as I hate myself.’ ‘I hardly think that possible. Of what crime can you be guilty, to accuse yourself so bitterly.’ ‘_I am a murderess!_’ She brought out the words so vehemently that I started. Was it possible she spoke the truth? And yet I had seen in our gaol, such young and superior-looking criminals, that I knew it _might_ be possible. My thoughts flew at once to her child. ‘Was it the baby?’ I cried. ‘Oh! my poor child! what drove you to such an awful deed?’ ‘Do you pity me still?’ ‘I pity you with all my heart.’ ‘Ah! madam; you are too good.’ She trembled so violently that I had taken the child from her arms, and as I stood there in the wintry path, she sank down upon her knees before me and kissed the border of my shawl, and hid her face in it and cried. ‘Mrs Graham, I cannot believe it!’ ‘No! you need not believe it. In that sense I did not kill my child. God took it away from me in anger; but I sent its father, my dearly-loved husband, to his death.’ ‘Sent him to his death!’