"You would have taken it with you to the Judgment Seat," said Dr. Spenlove, with solemn tenderness. "There would have been worse than hunger and privation. What answer could you have made to the Eternal when you presented yourself before the Throne with the crime of murder on your soul?" "Murder!" she gasped. "Murder," he gently repeated. "If you went out to-night with an intention so appalling, it was not only your own life you would have taken, it was the life of the innocent babe now slumbering by your side. Can you have forgotten that?" "No," she answered, in a tone of faint defiance, "I have not forgotten it, I do not forget it. God would have forgiven me." "He would not have forgiven you." "He would. What has she to live for? What have I to live for--a lost and abandoned woman, a mother whose association would bring degradation upon her child? How should I meet her reproaches when she grew to be a woman herself? I am not ungrateful for what you have done for me"--she glanced at the fire and the tea he held in his hand--"but it cannot continue. To-morrow will come. There is always a to-morrow to strike terror to the hearts of such as I. Do you know what I have suffered? Do you see the future that lies before us? What hope is there in this world for me and my child?" "There is hope. You brought her into the world." "God help me, I did!" she moaned. "By what right, having given her life, would you rob her of the happiness which may be in store for her?" "Happiness!" she exclaimed, bitterly. "You speak to me of happiness!" "I do, in truth and sincerity, if you are willing to make a sacrifice, if you are willing to perform a duty." "What would I not be willing to do," she cried, despairingly; "what would I not cheerfully do, to make her life innocent and happy--not like mine--oh, not like mine! But you are mocking me with empty words." "Indeed I am not," said Dr. Spenlove, earnestly. "Since I left you some hours ago, not expecting to see you again, something has occurred of which I came to speak to you. I found your room deserted, and feared--what we will not mention again. I searched, and discovered you in time to save you; and with all my heart I thank God for it! Now, drink this tea. I have much to say to you, and you need strength to consider it. If you can eat a little bread and butter--ah, you can! Let me fill your cup again. That is right. Now I recognise the lady it was my pleasure to be able to assist, not to the extent I would have wished, because of my own circumstances." His reference to her as a lady, no less than the respectful consideration of his manner towards her, brought a flush to her cheeks as she ate. And, indeed, she ate ravenously. Defiant and rebellious as may be our moods, nature's demands are imperative, and no mortal is strong enough to resist them.