“Our wedding day was set; it was to occur during the holiday season. Just about the time that Ned took his position I realized that our indiscretions in love had led to a state of affairs that would be exceedingly embarrassing. I told Ned my trouble and insisted on an immediate marriage. But he, of course, would not do that. Now that he was a Professor there must be some deliberation in the matter of a ceremony. A big wedding must be planned. Then I began to fail in health, and a physician, who had been an old classmate of Ned’s, advised that I go South. My mother wished to accompany me, but as my father’s health was poor I simply declared myself against going unless she remained with him. I told her I would rather stay at home and die than go away and live at the expense of my father’s comfort. “I went alone; no power could help me from the predicament which had been wrought by folly. “My babe was born in New Orleans. Ned came to see me as often as his duties would permit; I had the tenderest of care, and he always commented on my good appearance when he was with me; but I am sure if he could have seen me one hour after he had gone he would have thought differently. “Of course, I begged him to marry me, and he faithfully promised to do so, but, he said, ‘We must first allow your dishonor to be forgotten.’” “Think of that, will you—my dishonor!” At this thought Ethel began to pace the floor, seeming to forget my presence. “Ah,” she said, “if the baby had only lived!” Then, clutching the little square of tin, she pressed it to her lips with the fervor of a loving mother. “If you had but lived,” she said, as her deep blue eyes gazed at the chubby face shown in the picture. “He put me off from time to time.” “One day I received a letter from my mother saying that she would visit me. Horrors! what was I to do. It was at this point that the good little French woman with whom I was making my home came to my rescue. She was a mother. She had a child a year older than mine, but still at the breast. I told her of my predicament. “‘Never mind, dear,’ said she, with a pat on the head, ‘tell your mere to come; I will save you.’” “On the day my mother was to arrive she sent her child to her sister’s home in the country, and for three days my child received the nourishment which rightfully belonged to another child. “I looked quite well and my mother insisted on my returning home with her, but I made the excuse that I was going to take a course and become a trained nurse. My argument prevailed. “In sixty days my baby was at rest in a far off corner in one of the famous cemeteries of New Orleans, which is the object of so much interest to travelers from the fact that all the vaults are above the ground. Then for many reasons, I did go into a training school and eventually graduated as a professional nurse. “I followed that occupation for eight years.” “But what became of Professor Singleton?”