"Guilliam," she said, taking his hand, which shuddered at her touch, "we might have had a happy little home by this time. We might have learned to live a good life in this world and have prepared for a better one in the next. Little children might have put their soft arms around your neck, and with their innocent kisses banished the memory and the power of the evil past. Oh," she gasped, "how happy we might have been, and mother, Edith, and Laura would have smiled upon us. But what is now our condition?" she said, bitterly, her grip upon his hand becoming hard and fierce. "You have made me a tigress. I must cower and hide through life like a wild beast in a jungle. And you are dying and going to hell," she hissed in his ear, "and by and by, when I get to be an old ugly hag, I will come and torment you there forever and forever."
"Curse you, go away," shrieked the terror-stricken man.
An attendant hastened to the spot; Zell was standing at the foot of the cot, glaring at him.
"I thought you was a relation of his'n," said the man, roughly.
"So I am," said Zell, sternly. "As the one stung is related to the viper that stung him," and with a withering look she passed away.
That night Van Dam died.
In process of time Zell was turned adrift in the city. She applied vainly at stores and shops for a situation. She had no good clothes, and appearances were against her. She had a very little money in her portemonnaie when she was taken to the hospital. This was given to her on leaving, and she made it go as far as possible. At last she went to an intelligence office and sat among the others, who looked suspiciously at her. They instinctively felt that she was not of their sort.
"What can you do?" was the frequent question.
She did not know how to do a single thing, but thought that perhaps the position of waitress would be the easiest.
"Where are your references?"