“Yes—kill me!” The hollow eyes gleamed with sullen despair.
“And the babies?” asked Margaret as she stroked back the rings of flaxen hair above the fair little brows.
“Oh, God forgive me! I am so wretched, so desperate.”
“I know it, and I do not blame you; but let us see if there is not some way toward the sunshine. Tell me all about it.”
“It is only a little to tell. The marriage of a petted, only daughter, with a head full of romantic notions, to a man whose only fortune was head and hands; but who held, at the time of my marriage, a salaried position as manager of a prosperous business firm. A panic, a failure, and consequent loss of employment, followed by unsuccessful attempts at re-establishment in the old line, the yielding of health at the shrine of motherhood, the gradual settling into bare and bitter poverty, the disposal of every article of value, and that, last resort of the impecunious, the buying of needed furniture on the instalment plan, followed by the forcible taking back of the furniture just before the last payment could be made.”
“And your husband?”
“He went out again this morning in the old, well-nigh hopeless search for work.”
“Your parents?”
“They live in a distant city and know nothing of this. I married against their wishes. There were just five dollars more due on the furniture, but the chattel-mortgage shark exacted immediate payment, and of course I could not meet it. He was kind enough to leave me this,” and the thin hands pulled at the tattered quilt.
“Oh, it is pitiful! Shameful!” exclaimed Margaret. “You must not be left to lie here. Can you walk?”