"'No,' he answered, 'but it may be. It is always so with those girls; there's hardly a pin to choose between 'em. Naturally, she won't consent to let him get rid of her--won't consent to release him--won't consent to let him go free. They quarrel, and make it up. They quarrel agin, and make it up agin. Days, weeks go by, till yesterday comes, and she is to meet him at night. She's got a mother, she's got a father; they set together, and she goes to bed early. She's got a headache, she says, and so, "Good-night, mother; good-night, father;" a kiss for each of 'em; and there's a end of kisses and good-nights. The last page of her little book of life is reached. There's a lot in that scene to make a body think--it's full of pictures of the past. Think of all the days of childhood wasted; think of all the love, laughter, hopes, joys--wasted; flowers, ribbons, fancies, dreams--wasted; all that good men say is sweetest in life, and that's played its part for so many, many years--all wasted. Better to have been wicked at once, better to have been sinful and deceitful all through--think you not so? "Good-night, mother; good-night, father," and so--to bed? No. To go up to her little room and lock the door, to dress herself in her best clothes, to make herself still more beautiful--for that, you see, may melt her lover's heart--to put the bunch of white daisies in her belt, to wait till the house is quiet--so quiet, so quiet!--and then to steal out softly, softly! She stops at mother's door and listens. Not a sound. Mother and father sleep in peace. Remembrances of the past come to her in the dark, and she cries a little, very quietly. Then she departs. It is done. From that home she is gone for ever, and she is walking to her grave! The park is still and quiet at that hour of the night; excep for a few hungry wretches who prowl or sleep, the girl and the man have it all to themselves. First--love passages. Twelve o'clock. They stop and listen to the tolling of the bell--they all do that. Some smile and sing at the chimes, some shiver and groan. Next--arguments, entreaties to be released. He will be so good to her, O, so good, if she will only release him! One o'clock. Next--more love-making and coaxing, then threats, passionate reproaches, defiance. Ah, it has come to that--the end is near! Two o'clock. He stabs her, quick and sudden, to the heart? Hark! do you hear the wild scream? Her body is dead, and her soul--? But that and other mysteries remain to be unravelled--which may be--Never!'"
[CHAPTER XV.]
FANNY DESCRIBES HOW SHE MADE UP HER MIND WHAT TO DO WITH LEMON.
"Devlin put down the newspaper, and waited for me to speak. I think, sir, I've told you egsactly what he said, and as fur as possible in his own words. They are so printed on my mind that I couldn't forgit 'em if I tried ever so hard. As he described what had took place it was as if he was painting pictures, and he made me see 'em. I saw the poor girl's home; I saw her setting with her father and mother in jest sech a little room as this--for they are only humble people, sir; I saw her kiss 'em good-night; I saw her in her bedroom a-doing herself up before the looking-glass; I saw her put the bunch of white daisies in her belt; I saw her steal out of the house to the park; I saw the man and her walking about among the trees, and sometimes setting down to talk; I heard a scream--another!--another!--and I covered my eyes with my hands to shut it all out. I was so overcome that I hadn't strength to wrench myself away from Devlin, who was smoothing my hair with his hands. But presently I managed to scream:
"'Don't touch me! Don't touch me, you--you----'
"'You what?' asked Devlin in his false voice, moving a little away from my chair.
"My scream, and him speaking agin, brought me to myself.
"'Never mind, never mind,' I said. 'If you know what I'm thinking about, it's no use my telling you.'
"'I do know,' he said. 'Why, it's wrote on your face. And I know, too, that you want to ask me some questions. Fire away.'
"'Mr. Devlin, I said, upon that, 'you slep at home last night, didn't you?'