e jail or the hospital; yet there was always the
river. Had it come to that? Was there nothing else?

She lifted her eyes from the stone walk as hard as the heart of the
world, and found herself opposite a brightly lighted building. She
leaned against the door. From within came the sound of music, the
strains of a hymn, words of prayer. The light streamed about her face
from the stained window. This was a Church of God. Stained window,
stained woman, confronting each other in the night!

There was no God for her. There might have been once, but she had
committed the unpardonable sin against society and society was God.
There was no place for her anywhere, save the jail or the hospital or
the river. That last was the best. The street was deserted. She had
thought it not a good place in which to ply her trade! She made a step
forward and stopped.

In her pathway stood a figure seen dimly in the darkness. It stood in
the shadow beyond the broad light from the painted window. There was
something strangely familiar about it. She glanced up at that window.
Had the figure there stepped down and embodied itself vaguely on the
walk before her?

[Illustration: She laid her hand upon the knob of the church door.]

What was this strange figure? Who was he? As she stared, the outline
drew nearer. A man vested in long white draperies confronted her. He was
bareheaded and appeared insensible to the cold in which she shivered.
She put out her hand and something folded it back upon her breast. She
opened her lips and something sealed them.

As she watched, the figure slowly moved. It bent forward and went slowly
down on its knees on the sidewalk. The white hand began to trace
strange, mysterious, unknown, incomprehensible characters upon the
pavement. She watched with bated breath, some memory of another sinful
woman of whom she had heard in childhood coming back to her prostrate
mind. Yes, and there behind the figure stood others, hateful and hating,
very violent, passionate men. She stared f

William Babington Maxwell (18661938) was a British novelist. He was a son of novelist Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Though nearly 50 years old at the outbreak of the First World War, he was accepted as a lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers and served in France until 1917.

Cyrus Townsend Brady (December 20, 1861 January 24, 1920) was a journalist, historian and adventure writer. His most well-known work is Indian Fights and Fighters. He was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, and graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1883. He was also a deacon in the Episcopal church. His first wife was Clarissa Guthrie, who died in 1890. His second wife was Mary Barrett.

Rebecca Sophia Clarke (1833-1906), also known as Sophie May, was an American author of childrens fiction. Using her nieces and nephews as inspiration, she wrote realistic stories about children. She wrote 45 books between 1860 and 1903. The most popular being the Little Prudy books. She lived most of her life in her native town of Norridgewock, Maine, where she lived out her life with her sister, who was also a successful author.