Yes, it was me--wretched, miserable me--the most miserable, the most guilty woman alive--it was me." My heart went out to her in fullness of pity--poor, unhappy woman! sobbing her heart out; weeping, as surely no one ever wept before.

I wished that Heaven had made anyone else her judge than me.

Then she sat up facing me, and I wondered what the judge must think when the sentence of death passes his lips.

I knew that this was the sentence of death for this woman.
"You never knew what passed after, did you ?" I asked.
"No--not at all," was the half sullen reply--"not at all." "Did you never purchase a Brighton paper, or look into a London paper to see ?" "No," she replied.
"Then I will tell you," I said, and I told her all that had passed.

How the people had stood round the little baby, and the men cursed the cruel hands that had drowned the little babe.
"Did they curse my hands ?" she asked, and I saw her looking at them in wonder.
"Yes; the men said hard words, but the women were pitiful and kind; one kissed the little face, dried it, and kissed it with tears in her eyes.
Was it your own child ?" There was a long pause, a long silence, a terrible few minutes, and then she answered: "Yes, it was my child!" Her voice was full of despair; she folded her hands and laid them on her lap.
"I knew it must come," she said.