"Good-by. May the pleasant thought that you have sent one more soul to perdition lull you to sweet sleep."
But, for some reason, it did not. When they became cool enough to think it over, they admitted that perhaps they had been a "little hasty."
They had a daughter of about Zell's age. It would be a little hard if any one should treat her so.
Zell had scarcely more than enough to pay her way to New York. It seemed that people ought to stretch out their hands to shield her, but they only jostled her in their haste. As she stood, with her bundle, in the ferry entrance on the New York side, undecided where to go, a man ran against her in his hurry.
"Get out of the way," he said, irritably.
She moved out one side into the darkness, and with a pallid face said:
"Yes, it has come to this. I must 'get out of the way' of all decent people. There is the river on one side. There are the streets on the other. Which shall it be?"
"Oh! it was pitiful,
Near a whole city full,"
that no hand was stretched to her aid.
She shuddered. "I can't, I dare not die yet. It must be a little easier here than there, where he is."