“I want to die!” she answered. “What have I to live for?” Samuel stood for a moment, perplexed. Then, as he touched her wet clothing again, common sense asserted itself. “You mustn't stay here,” he said. “You mustn't.” But she only went on weeping. “He's cast me off!” she exclaimed. “My God, what shall I do?” Samuel turned and ran into the house again and got an umbrella in the hall. Then he took the girl by the arm and half lifted her. “Come,” he said. “Please.” “But where shall I go?” she asked. “I know some one in the town who'll help you,” he said. “You can't stay here--you'll catch cold.” “What's there left for me?” she moaned. “What am I good for? He's thrown me over--and I can't live without him!” Samuel got the umbrella up and held it with one hand; then with his other arm about the girl's waist, he half carried her down the piazza steps. “That she-devil was after him!” she was saying. “And it was Jack Holliday set her at it, damn his soul! I'll pay him for it!” She poured forth a stream of wild invective. “Please stop,” pleaded Samuel. “People will hear you.” “What do I care if they do hear me? Let them put me in jail--that's all I'm fit for. I'm drunk, and I'm good for nothing--and he's tired of me!” So she rushed on, all the way toward town. Then, as they came to the bridge, she stopped and looked about. “Where are you taking me?” she asked. “To a friend's house,” he said, having in mind the Stedmans. “No,” she replied. “I don't want to see anyone. Take me to some hotel, can't you?” “There's one down the street here,” he said. “I don't know anything about it.” “I don't care. Any place.” The rain had slackened and she stopped and gathered up her wet and straggled hair. There was a bar underneath the hotel, and a flight of stairs led up to the office. They went up, and a man sitting behind the desk stared at them. “I want to get a room for this lady,” said Samuel. “She's been caught in the rain.” “Is she your wife?” asked the man. “Mercy, no,” said he startled. “Do you want a room, too?” “No, no, I'm going away.” “Oh!” said the man, and took down a key. “Register, please.” Samuel took the pen, and then turned to the girl. “I beg pardon,” he said, “but I don't know your name.” “Mary Smith,” she answered, and Samuel stared at her in surprise. “Mary Smith,” she repeated, and he wrote it down obediently. The man took them upstairs; and Samuel, after helping the girl to a chair, shut the door and stood waiting. And she flung herself down upon the bed and burst into a paroxysm of weeping. Samuel had never even heard the word hysterics, and it was terrifying to him to see her--he could not have believed that so frail and slender a human body could survive so frightful a storm of emotion. “Oh, please, please stop!” he cried wildly. “I can't live without him!” she wailed again and again. “I can't live without him! What am I going to do?”