"If his father is that sort of man, the best chance for Jackie would be to keep him out of his way. If he gets divorced and marries another woman he will forget all about Jackie." "Yes, that might be," said Esther, and Fred pursued his advantage. But, interrupting him, Esther said-- "Anyway, Jackie would lose all his father's money; the public-house would--" "So you're going to live in a public-house, Esther?" "A woman must be with her husband." "But he's not your husband; he's another woman's husband." "He's to marry me when he gets his divorce." "He may desert you and leave you with another child." "You can't say nothing I ain't thought of already. I must put up with the risk. I suppose it is a part of the punishment for the first sin. We can't do wrong without being punished--at least women can't. But I thought I'd been punished enough." "The second sin is worse than the first. A married man, Esther--you who I thought so religious." "Ah, religion is easy enough at times, but there is other times when it don't seem to fit in with one's duty. I may be wrong, but it seems natural like--he's the father of my child." "I'm afraid your mind is made up, Esther. Think twice before it's too late." "Fred, I can't help myself--can't you see that? Don't make it harder for me by talking like that." "When are you going to him?" "To-night; he's waiting for me." "Then good-bye, Esther, good--" "But you'll come and see us." "I hope you'll be happy, Esther, but I don't think we shall see much more of each other. You know that I do not frequent public-houses." "Yes, I know; but you might come and see me in the morning when we're doing no business." Fred smiled sadly. "Then you won't come?" she said. "Good-bye, Esther." They shook hands, and he went out hurriedly. She dashed a tear from her eyes, and went upstairs to her mistress, who had rung for her. Miss Rice was in her easy-chair, reading. A long, slanting ray entered the room; the bead curtain glittered, and so peaceful was the impression that Esther could not but perceive the contrast between her own troublous life and the contented privacy of this slender little spinster's. "Well, miss," she said, "it's all over. I've told him." "Have you, Esther?" said Miss Rice. Her white, delicate hands fell over the closed volume. She wore two little colourless rings and a ruby ring which caught the light. "Yes, miss, I've told him all. He seemed a good deal cut up. I couldn't help crying myself, for I could have made him a good wife--I'm sure I could; but it wasn't to be." "You've told him you were going off to live with William?" "Yes, miss; there's nothing like telling the whole truth while you're about it. I told him I was going off to-night." "He's a very religious young man?"