Like hundreds of poor girls, she had drifted from bad to worse, until that mad marriage to Jim Denton capped the climax of her wickedness.

Now, with her newly awakened understanding she desired to do penance for her sin.  It was a part of that old religion which she had long ago discarded.

At the confessional she told her wrongdoing and received absolution so far as it is in the power of God’s mediators to absolve one, but to promise to live, uprightly forevermore did not satisfy her soul.  She felt the need of further self-abnegation; she must crucify body and spirit to complete the penance.

With the calmness, even exultation, of a martyr she made her preparations.  There were wishes to be expressed and letters to be written.

One of these letters reached Faith as she sat with her mother early one evening; the writing so faint and uneven that she could hardly decipher it.

“Oh, mother! mother!” she cried as she perused it.  “Quick! get on your hat and come with me!  The letter is from Maggie—­she is sick—­or dying!”

As they hurried from the house Mr. Watkins joined them.  In five minutes they were in a carriage driving swiftly toward Maggie’s address.

As Faith opened the door leading to Maggie’s rooms she came upon a scene that nearly paralyzed her senses.

Poor Maggie was half lying and half sitting upon a couch, her husband supporting her tenderly while Miss Fairbanks stood by administering a cordial.  There was another person in the room whom Faith knew at once to be a physician, but she had eyes nor ears for no one but Maggie.

“Oh, you poor, dear child!  What has happened?” she asked quickly as she went over and knelt by the side of the poor creature.

“I thought you would come,” whispered Maggie faintly.  “I wanted to see you, oh, so much!  I wanted—­to—­thank—­you!”

She lay back on her pillow with a stifled groan while James Denton wiped her brow—­his own the color of ashes.

“You were so good,” murmured poor Maggie again as Faith leaned over her.  “You taught me, to pray.  May the good God bless you.”

She closed her eyes and a sigh escaped her lips.  In an instant the physician took her wrist between his fingers.

“Gone,” he said, softly, “the poor child is at rest.  Cheer up, Mr. Denton, your wife is in heaven.”

“Thanks to her,” whispered James Denton, with a look toward Faith.  She was kneeling, convulsed with sorrow, with her mother’s arms about her.

No one really knew how the secret leaked out first, for the physician, acting as he thought wise, refrained from telling it openly, but Faith soon learned that Maggie’s death was not natural—­she had died by her own hand—­it was her full and complete penance.

“It is not for us to judge,” whispered Mrs. Marvin when she heard it.

“God alone knew her thoughts,” was Faith’s tearful answer.