should follow her friend, caparisoned even as before, but this time
by the rougher but no less loving hands of men. When the cortege
reached the ferry where the gentle girl was to begin her silent
journey to the sea, Jinny broke from those who held her, and after
a frantic effort to mount the barge fell into the swiftly rushing
Stanislaus. A dozen stout arms were stretched to save her, and a
rope skilfully thrown was caught around her feet. For an instant
she was passive, and, as it seemed, saved. But the next moment her
dominant instinct returned, and with one stroke of her powerful
heel she snapped the rope in twain and so drifted with her mistress
to the sea.



ROGER CATRON'S FRIEND


I think that, from the beginning, we all knew how it would end. He
had always been so quiet and conventional, although by nature an
impulsive man; always so temperate and abstemious, although a man
with a quick appreciation of pleasure; always so cautious and
practical, although an imaginative man, that when, at last, one by
one he loosed these bands, and gave himself up to a life, perhaps
not worse than other lives which the world has accepted as the
natural expression of their various owners, we at once decided that
the case was a hopeless one. And when one night we picked him up
out of the Union Ditch, a begrimed and weather-worn drunkard, a
hopeless debtor, a self-confessed spendthrift, and a half-
conscious, maudlin imbecile, we knew that the end had come. The
wife he had abandoned had in turn deserted him; the woman he had