"Ah! but you forget that you have your child to rear and educate, his mind and life to mold, and—try to make him a better man than his father," said Edith, with a tender earnestness, which instantly melted the injured girl to tears.
"Oh, that you should have thought of that, when I, his mother, forget my duty to him, and think only of my own unhappiness!" sobbed the conscience-stricken girl, as she hugged the wondering child closer to her breast. "Yesterday I told myself that I would send Ino to him, and then end my misery forever."
"Don't!" exclaimed Edith, sharply, her face almost convulsed with pain. "Your life belongs to God, and—this baby. Live above your trouble, Giulia; never let your darling have the pain and shame of learning that his mother was a suicide. If you have made one mistake, do not imagine that you can expiate it by committing another a hundred-fold worse. Ah! think what comfort there would be in rearing your boy to a noble manhood, and then hear him say, 'What I am my mother has made me!'"
She had spoken earnestly, appealingly, and when she ceased, the unhappy woman seized her hand and covered it with kisses.
"Oh, you have saved me!" she sobbed; "you have poured oil into my wounds. I will do as you say—I will rise above my sin and shame; and if Ino lives to be an honor to himself and the world, I shall tell him of the angel who saved us both. I am very sorry for you," she added, looking, regretfully, up at Edith; "I could almost lay down my life for you now; but—Correlli is rich—very rich, and you may, perhaps, be able to get some comfort out of life by—"
Edith started to her feet, her face crimson.
"What?" she cried, scornfully, "do you suppose that I could ever take pleasure in spending even one dollar of his money? Look there!" pointing to the elegant apparel upon the bed. "I found all those awaiting me when I came here to-day. In the dressing-case yonder there are laces, jewels, and fine raiment of every description, but I would go in rags before I would make use of a single article. I loathe the sight of them," she added, shuddering. "I should feel degraded, indeed, could I experience one moment of pleasure arrayed in them."
Suddenly she started, and looked at her watch, a wild hope animating her.
It was exactly quarter past two.
A train left for New York, via the Boston & Albany Railroad, at three o'clock.