waters of the green sea all night. Now comes the horror, Mrs. Fleming.
When the man, who saw the scene went after some years to visit the
friend whom he loved so dearly, he recognized in that friend's wife the
woman who threw the child into the sea!"

Again came the sound that was like nothing human.

"What was that man to do?" I asked. "He could not be silent; the friend
who loved and trusted him must have been most basely deceived--he could
not hide a murder; yet the woman was so lovely, so lovable; she was
seemingly so good, so charitable, so devoted to her husband, that he was
puzzled, tortured; at last he resolved upon telling her. I have told
you."

Then silence, deep and awful, fell over us; it lasted until I saw that I
must break it. She lay motionless on the ground, her face buried in the
grass.

"What should you have done in that man's place, Mrs. Fleming?" I asked.

Then she raised her face; it was whiter, more despairing, more ghastly
than I had seen it on the pier.

"I knew it must come," she wailed. "Oh, Heaven, how often have I dreaded
this--I knew from the first."

"Then it was you?" I said.

"It was me," she replied. "I need not try to hide it any longer, why
should I? Every leaf on every tree, every raindrop that has fallen,