bring disgrace on her husband and live. She could not doom her only
child to sorrow and shame, yet live. She could not bear the ignominy of
the exposure. She, who had been so proud of her fair fame, of her
spotless name, her high reputation. It was not possible. She could not
bear it. Her hands trembled. All the strength seemed to leave her. She
fell half-fainting--moaning with white lips that she could not bear it
and live.

Must she die? Must she part with the sweet, warm life that filled her
veins? Must she seek death because she could no longer live?

No, she dare not.

"I cannot live and I dare not die," she moaned. "I am utterly wretched,
utterly hopeless and miserable. Life and death alike are full of terrors
for me."

What should she do? Through the long, burning hours, through the long,
dreary nights, she asked herself that question--What should she do?

Her husband, alarmed at her white face and altered manner, talked of
summoning a physician to her. Her friends advised change of air, but
there was no human help for her.

Then, when mind and brain alike were overdone, when the strained nerves
gave way, when the fever of fear and suspense rose to its height, she
thought of flight. That was the only recourse left to her--flight! Then
she would escape the terrors of death and the horror of life. Flight was
the only resource left to her. The poor, bewildered mind, groping so
darkly, fixed on this one idea. She would not kill herself. That would