"Why don't you tell me your story? Then I'll know what to do, and perhaps can
help you. You don't look like a depraved woman."

"I'm not. God knows I'm not!"

"Well, my poor woman, I've got to act in view of what I know, not what God
knows."

"If I tell my story, will I have to give names?"

"No, not necessarily. It would be best, though."

"I can't do that, but I'll tell you the truth. I will swear it on the Bible
I married someone. A good minister married us. The man deceived me. He was
already married, and last night his wife came to my happy home and proved
before the man whom I thought my husband that I was no wife at all. He
couldn't, didn't deny it. Oh! Oh! Oh!" And she again rocked back and forth
in uncontrollable anguish. "That's all," she added brokenly. "I had no right
to be near him or her any longer, and I rushed out. I don't remember much
more. My brain seemed on fire. I just walked and walked till I was brought
here."

"Well, well!" said the sergeant sympathetically, "you have been treated badly,
outrageously; but you are not to blame unless you married the man hastily and
foolishly."

"That's what everyone will think, but it don't seem to me that I did. It's a
long story, and I can't tell it."

"But you ought to tell it, my poor woman. You ought to sue the man for