She lay on her back, with her arms, from which the sleeves fell, thrown over her head, and her face turned to one side, so that her cheek rested against the smooth flesh of one inner arm. The folds of her scant gown lay thin and pliant over her long, slim figure, and the pointed toes of her little gray _mules_ showed at the end of the lounge where her feet were crossed one over the other. To-day she had given up the long, long struggle for self-control and strength. She abandoned herself absolutely to the dark, unbroken grief which she felt to be her only natural and honest life. She did not even long for happiness to-day: she longed only for the peace of death--the nothingness of the grave. Oh, to be taken so, without the need to stir or move, and lowered into a cool, deep, still grave,--breath, consciousness, hope, regret, memory, individuality, all, all gone,--and earth and grass and flowers over her! That instinct of weak self-pity, to which the strongest of us yield now and then, overcame the lethargy of her mood, and the springs of tears were touched. Two large drops rose and forced their way between her close-shut lids. “O, what have I done, what have I done, to have to suffer so?” she whispered--“to have to give up all, all joy, and take only pain and misery and regret for all my life! It was only a mistake. It was no sin or crime that I committed when I sent him away, and said that I did not love him. It was only an awful, fatal, terrible mistake. I have feared so for a long, long time; but, oh! I know it now! I want him back--I want him back! I want his love, and his patience, and his care. I want him for my friend, and my protector, and my husband. And though I want him so, I am farther away from him than if I had never seen him. When this hideous divorce is got, and our beautiful marriage has been undone, any other woman in the world might hope to win his love. I shall be the one free woman on earth to whom that hope would be shame and outrage and humiliation. O my God, help me, help me! Show me what to do. Give me back at least my pride, that I may not have to suffer his contempt. O God Almighty, if his love for me is quite, quite dead, in mercy let my love for him die too! Oh, no--no--no! My God, I take it back! I do not ask it. I do not want to stop this agony of pain that comes from loving him. O God of pity and compassion, give me now a little help, and show me what to do. Kill me now--strike me dead, O God--rather than let me do anything to cause him to despise me!” She buried her face in her hands, and went on, speaking between her fingers in thick, sobbing whispers.