Jennie was troubled, not in her affections—for if Kightly Montgomery had not succeeded in slaying her, he had certainly managed to kill her love for him—but in her conscience. Was she right in letting him go on in his course of evil? Ought she not to stop it? But could she, even if she tried? And she shrank from trying. For if she should succeed in exposing him, what a terrible mortification it would be to that unfortunate young lady whom he had feloniously married; who was reported to be as religious and charitable as she was beautiful and accomplished; who, even in the busy week before her wedding day, had given time to go out shopping for her—Jennie’s—outfit; and whom it was now too late to save, since she had been living with her supposed husband for a week. To expose him now, and here, would be to degrade her before all the ship’s passengers, so that all who now admired, honored or envied her, would soon pity and avoid her. Jennie could not bring an “unoffending” fellow creature to that pass; and if her forbearance was a sin, she hoped the Lord would pardon her for His sake who pitied the sinful woman. While Jennie was “wrestling” so in the spirit, the stewardess came up and put her baby in her arms, smiling, and saying: “As I was passing by your stateroom I just looked in to see if all was right, and then I saw this little thing lying wide awake and crowing to herself as good as pie. And I thought I would wrap her up and bring her to you for a breath of this good, fresh air, which, if it was doing you good, wouldn’t do her harm. Was I right?” “Oh, yes, Mrs. Hopkins. And I thank you so much,” said Jennie, as she stooped and kissed the babe that lay upon her lap; but Mrs. Hopkins had already gone about her business. Jennie smiled and cooed to the little one, enjoying its presence, and rejoicing that Kightly Montgomery was gone from her side and was not likely to return. She had purposely avoided speaking of the child to him. She was glad that he had not once inquired about it. She had almost a superstitious dread of his seeing, touching or even knowing of the babe, for fear that his evil nature might, in some moral, physical or, perhaps, occult way, bring harm to the little innocent. She was still bending over the babe, when a soft, sweet, melodious voice addressed her. “Pardon me, you are Mrs. Montgomery, are you not?” Jennie looked up. The goddess had come back. Jennie did not know her, but she answered quietly: “Yes, madam.” “I am Mrs. Randolph Hay; and that I had heard of you and become interested in you must be my excuse for intruding my acquaintance on you,” added the beauty, with a bewitching smile. Jennie flushed, paled, trembled and cast down her eyes. This, then, was Lamia Leegh, the unfortunate young lady whom Kightly Montgomery had married! Jennie felt sorry for her, standing there in all the pride and pomp of her beauty and wealth.