"Mine has been a wicked life," said Milly; "but I did not know what I was doing--indeed, indeed I did not! I never stopped to think. You believe me, don't you, dear?"
"I do believe you, my poor, poor Milly!"
"You break my heart, my dear, when you speak like that," said Milly, the tears stealing down her face. Alice stooped and kissed her again. "Thank you! it is more than I deserve. You are like a good angel standing by my bed. What could I do? I was persuaded to run away from my home by a young man, three years ago. We came out here, and he left me. What could I do? Is all the sin mine? I was led away. It was not all my fault. Oh, my dear! You are a married woman, and respectable; you don't know the sufferings we poor girls endure!"
Ah! poor Alice! she thought of herself and of her own sad lot, and laid her cheek close by the side of Milly's.
"How good you are!" said Milly, as thus they lay. "What is your name, dear?"
"Alice."
A look of horror crept into Milly's eyes, and a change so ghastly came over her countenance, that Alice caught at her as though she would arrest the life she thought was passing away.
"Alice?" whispered Milly, slowly and painfully, for her strength was leaving her. "Alice? Grif's friend?"
"Yes, dear," replied Alice, holding Molly's hand fast.
"And Richard Handfield is your husband?"