"Ah, Zip, Zip!" Suddenly Jessie's hands went up to her face and her eyes were hidden. It was the movement of one who fears to witness the hatred, the loathing, the scorn which her own accusing mind assures her she merits. It was the movement of one whose heart was torn by remorse and shame, whose eyes were open to her sins, and who realizes that earthly damnation is her future lot. Her bosom heaved, and dry sobs choked her. And the little man, who had come so far to claim her, stood perplexed and troubled. At last he struggled out a few words, longing to console, but scarcely understanding how to go about it. All he understood was that she was ill and suffering. "Say, Jess, you mustn't to cry," he said wistfully. "Ther' ain't nothin' to set you cryin'. Ther' sure ain't--" But a woman's hysteria was a thing unknown to him, and his gentle attempt was swept aside in a torrent of insensate denial. "No, no! Don't come near me," she cried in a harsh, strident tone. "Leave me. Leave me to my misery. Don't dare to come here mocking me. Don't dare to accuse me. Who are you to accuse? You are no better than me. You have no right to come here as my judge. You, with your smooth ways, your quiet sneers. Don't you dare! Don't you dare! I'm no longer your wife, so you have no right. I'm his--his. Do you understand? I'm his. I shall live the life I choose, and you shall not molest me. I know you. You've come to accuse me, to tell me all I am, to tax me with my shame. It's cruel--cruel. Oh, God, help me--help me!" The woman's voice died out in a piteous wail that smote straight to the heart of the little man who stood shaking before her hysterical outbreak. He knew not what to do. His love prompted him to go to her and crush her to his simple, loving heart, but somehow he found himself unable to do anything but gaze with longing eyes upon the heart-broken figure, as she leant upon the foot-rail of the bed. He stirred. And in the moments that passed while his eyes were fixed upon her rich, heaving bosom, his mind groping vaguely, he became aware of everything about him. He knew he was in her bedroom. He knew that the furnishings were good. He knew that the sunlight was pouring in through the open window, and that a broad band of dazzling light was shining upon her lustrous dark hair. He knew all these things in the same way that he knew she was suffering so that she came near breaking his own sympathetic heart. But though his intellect failed him, and he had no idea of what he ought to say or do, words came at last and tumbled headlong from his lips, just as they were inspired, all unconsidered, by his heart. "Say, Jessie gal," he cried in a softly persuasive tone, "won't you come to home--an'--an' help me out? Won't you, gal?" But he was given no time to complete his appeal. The woman suddenly raised her face, and once more broke out in hysterical fury.