She was a daughter of shame. Even inexperience could see that as she
wandered up and down the streets of the town, desperate, impelled to go
on by a force too strong for her to resist. She trod the pavement, yet
loathed the necessity and hated herself for her compliance. She had only
to look forward to the jail or the hospital; yet there was always the
river. Had it come to that? Was there nothing else?

She lifted her eyes from the stone walk as hard as the heart of the
world, and found herself opposite a brightly lighted building. She
leaned against the door. From within came the sound of music, the
strains of a hymn, words of prayer. The light streamed about her face
from the stained window. This was a Church of God. Stained window,
stained woman, confronting each other in the night!

There was no God for her. There might have been once, but she had
committed the unpardonable sin against society and society was God.
There was no place for her anywhere, save the jail or the hospital or
the river. That last was the best. The street was deserted. She had
thought it not a good place in which to ply her trade! She made a step
forward and stopped.

In her pathway stood a figure seen dimly in the darkness. It stood in
the shadow beyond the broad light from the painted window. There was
something strangely familiar about it. She glanced up at that window.
Had the figure there stepped down and embodied itself vaguely on the
walk before her?

[Illustration: She laid her hand upon the knob of the church door.]