Rhona looked at her terrified. She did not understand. What sort of woman was this? How live in luxury without working? How be downright woman? "What do you mean?" asked the young girl. So Millie told her. They went to bed, their light was put out, and neither had a wink of sleep. Rhona lay staring in the darkness and over the room came the soft whisper of Millie bearing a flood of the filth of the underworld. Rhona could not resist it. She lay helpless, quaking with a wild horror.... Later she remembered that night in Russia when she and others hid under the corn in a barn while the mob searched over their heads--a moment ghastly with impending mutilation and death--and she felt that this night was more terrible than that. Her girlhood seemed torn to shreds.... Dawn broke, a watery glimmer through the high barred window. Rhona rose from her bed, rushed to the door, pulled on the bars, and loosed a fearful shriek. The guard, running down, Millie, leaping forward, both cried: "What's the matter?" But the slim figure in the white nightgown fell down on the floor, and thus earned a few hours in the hospital. * * * * * They set her to scrubbing floors next day, a work for which she had neither experience nor strength. Weary, weary day--the large rhythm of the scrubbing-brush, the bending of the back, the sloppy, dirty floors--on and on, minute after minute, on through the endless hours. She tried to work diligently, though she was dizzy and sick, and felt as if she were breaking to pieces. Feverishly she kept on. Lunch was tasteless to her; so was supper; and after supper came Millie. No one can tell of those nights when the young girl was locked in with a hard prostitute--nights, true, of lessening horror, and so, all the more horrible. As Rhona came to realize that she was growing accustomed to Millie's talk--even to the point of laughing at the jokes--she was aghast at the dark spaces beneath her and within her. She was becoming a different sort of being--she looked back on the hard-toiling girl, who worked so faithfully, who tried to study, who had a quiet home, whose day was an innocent routine of toil and meals and talk and sleep, as on some one who was beautiful and lovely, but now dead. In her place was a sharp, cynical young woman. Well for Rhona that her sentence was but five days! The next afternoon she was scrubbing down the long corridor between the cells when the matron came, jangling her keys. "Some one here for you," said the matron. Rhona leaped up. "My mother?" she cried out, in a piercing voice. "See here," said the matron, "you want to go easy--and only five minutes, mind you." "My mother?" Rhona repeated, her heart near to bursting. "No--some one else. Come along." Rhona followed, half choking. The big door was unlocked before her and swung open; she peered out. It was Joe and Myra.