“I had very little money.  I knew no soul in the place.  I had no more idea what to do with a dead child than a baby would have had.  I call it dead,” she continued, “for I believe it to have been dead, no matter what any doctor says.  It was cold—­oh, my Heaven, how cold!—­lifeless; no breath passed the little lips! the eyes were closed—­the pretty hand stiff.  I believed it dead.  I wandered down to the beach and sat down on the stones.

“What was I to do with this sweet, cold body?  I cried until I was almost blind; in the whole wide world there was no one so utterly desolate and wretched.  I cried aloud to Heaven to help me—­where should I bury my little child?  I cannot tell how the idea first occurred to me.  The waves came in with a soft, murmuring melody, a sweet, silvery hush, and I thought the deep, green sea would make a grave for my little one.  It was mad and wicked I know now; I can see how horrible it was; it did not seem to be so then.  I only thought of the sea then as my best friend, the place where I was to hide the beloved little body, the clear, green grave where she was to sleep until the Judgment Day.  I waited until—­it is a horrible thing to tell you! but I fell asleep—­fast asleep, and of all the horrors in my story, the worst part is that, sitting by the sea, fast asleep myself, with my little, dead babe on my knee.

“When I awoke the tide was coming in full and soft, and swift-running waves, the sun had set, and a thick, soft gloom had fallen over everything, and then I knew the time had come for what I wanted to do.”

CHAPTER XII.

“I went on to the Chain Pier.  I had kissed the little face for the last time; I had wrapped the pretty white body in the black-and-gray shawl.  I said all the prayers I could remember as I walked along the pier; it was the most solemn of burial services to me.

“I went to the side of the pier—­I cannot understand how it was that I did not see you—­I stood there some few minutes, and then I took the little bundle; I raised it gently and let it fall into the sea.  But my baby was dead—­I swear to that.  Oh, Heaven! if I dared—­if I dared fling myself in the same green, briny waves!

“I was mad with anguish.  I went back to my lodging; the landlady asked me if I had left the baby in Brighton, and I answered ‘Yes.’  I do not know how the days went on—­I could not tell you; I was never myself, nor do I remember much until some weeks afterward I went home to my grandmother, who died soon after I reached her.  I need not tell you that afterwards I met Lance, and learned to love him with all my heart.

“Do not tell him; promise me, I beseech you, for mercy’s sake, do not tell him!”

“What you have told me,” I said, “certainly gives a different aspect to the whole affair.  I will make no promise—­I will think it over.  I must have time to decide what is best.”