yet, it was all true. She was helping her, she was befriending her.

She found herself wondering why the poor wretch had not made way
with herself. Escape seemed out of the question. That must have been
clear to her from the beginning, else why was she going back there
to give herself up? What better way out of it all than self-destruction?
Sara Wrandall reached a sudden conclusion. She would advise the girl
to leave the car when they reached the centre of a certain bridge
that spanned the river! No one would find her...

Even as the thought took shape in her mind, she experienced a great
sense of awe, so overwhelming that she cried out with the horror
of it. She turned her head for a quick glance at the mute, wretched
face showing white above the robe, and her heart ached with sudden
pity for her. The thought of that slender, alive thing going down
to the icy waters--her soul turned sick with the dread of it!

In that instant, Sara Wrandall--no philanthropist, no sentimentalist--made
up her mind to give this erring one more than an even chance for
salvation. She would see her safely across THAT bridge and many
others. God had directed the footsteps of this girl so that she
should fall in with the one best qualified to pass judgment on
her. It was in that person's power to save her or destroy her. The
commandment, "Thou shalt not kill," took on a broader meaning as
she considered the power that was hers: the power to kill.

Back of all these finely human impulses was the mysterious arbiter
that makes great decisions for all of us, from which there can be
no appeal, and which brooks no argument: Self. Self it was that
put a single question to her and answered it as well: what personal