Mrs. Gerhardt burst into tears, and her husband turned away, his own feelings far too intense for him to have any sympathy with her. He walked to and fro, his heavy step shaking the kitchen floor. After a time he came back, a new phase of the dread calamity having offered itself to his mind. “When did this happen?” he demanded “I don’t know,” returned Mrs. Gerhardt, too terror-stricken to tell the truth. “I only found it out the other day.” “You lie!” he exclaimed in his excitement. “You were always shielding her. It is your fault that she is where she is. If you had let me have my way there would have been no cause for our trouble to-night. “A fine ending,” he went on to himself. “A fine ending. My boy gets into jail; my daughter walks the streets and gets herself talked about; the neighbors come to me with open remarks about my children; and now this scoundrel ruins her. By the God in heaven, I don’t know what has got into my children! “I don’t know how it is,” he went on, unconsciously commiserating himself. “I try, I try! Every night I pray that the Lord will let me do right, but it is no use. I might work and work. My hands—look at them—are rough with work. All my life I have tried to be an honest man. Now—now—” His voice broke, and it seemed for a moment as if he would give way to tears. Suddenly he turned on his wife, the major passion of anger possessing him. “You are the cause of this,” he exclaimed. “You are the sole cause. If you had done as I told you to do this would not have happened. No, you wouldn’t do that. She must go out! out!! out!!! She has become a street-walker, that’s what she has become. She has set herself right to go to hell. Let her go. I wash my hands of the whole thing. This is enough for me.” He made as if to go off to his little bedroom, but he had no sooner reached the door than he came back. “She shall get out!” he said electrically. “She shall not stay under my roof! To-night! At once! I will not let her enter my door again. I will show her whether she will disgrace me or not!” “You mustn’t turn her out on the streets to-night,” pleaded Mrs. Gerhardt. “She has no place to go.” “To-night!” he repeated. “This very minute! Let her find a home. She did not want this one. Let her get out now. We will see how the world treats her.” He walked out of the room, inflexible resolution fixed upon his rugged features. At half-past five, when Mrs. Gerhardt was tearfully going about the duty of getting supper, Jennie returned. Her mother started when she heard the door open, for now she knew the storm would burst afresh. Her father met her on the threshold. “Get out of my sight!” he said savagely. “You shall not stay another hour in my house. I don’t want to see you any more. Get out!” Jennie stood before him, pale, trembling a little, and silent. The children she had brought home with her crowded about in frightened amazement. Veronica and Martha, who loved her dearly, began to cry.