And yet, what peace or quiet could there be for her here or anywhere now? The terrible torture that had preceded that terrible accident! Her Edward’s cry! His death! And when she loved him so! Had! Did now! And yet by his dread perverseness, cruelty, brutality, he had taken himself from her. But still, still—now that he was gone—now that in dying, as she heard he had said, he had been “stuck on her” at first, that she had “set him crazy,” but that afterwards, because of his parents, as well as hers, he had decided that he would not marry her—she could not help but feel more kindly to him. He had been cruel. But had he not died? And at her hands. She had killed him—murdered him. Oh, yes, she had. Oh! Oh! Oh! For in connection with the actual scene did she not recall some one crying that his shirt front had been all bloody. Oh! Oh! Oh! And in her heart, no doubt, when she had jumped in front of him there in the dusk had been rage—rage and hate even, too, for the moment. Oh, yes. But he had cried: “Oh, Christ! I’m shot!” (Her Edward’s cry.) And so, even in the silence of these richly furnished rooms, with a servant coming to her call, hot, silent tears and deep, racking sobs—when no one was supposed to see or hear—and thoughts, thoughts, thoughts—sombre, bleak—as to her lack of sense, her lack of courage or will to end it all for herself on that dreadful evening when she so easily might have. And now here she had plighted her word that she would do nothing rash—would not attempt to take her life. But the future! The future! And what had she not seen since that dreadful night! Edward’s father and mother at the inquest! And how they had looked at her! Hauptwanger, senior—his strong, broad German face marked with a great anguish. And Mrs. Hauptwanger—small and all in black, and with great hollow rings under her eyes. And crying silently nearly all the time. And both had sworn that they knew nothing of Edward’s conduct, or of his definite interest in her. He was a headstrong, virile, restless boy. They had a hard time controlling him. And yet he had not been a bad boy, either—headstrong but willing to work—and gay—their only son.