"One night, with other revelers, _he_ came to that unholy place; _he_, my 'husband!'--oh, it was gay! He smiled the old smile; he said, 'Right, my girl, a short life and a merry one; there is no future--we die and there's an end!' My tortured soul gave these false words the lie; but I smiled back--he was to be _my_ victim now! Peace was lost, heaven was lost; what should hold me back? The wine cup went round. 'Pledge me,' I said, 'here's to your happy future!' He drained it, poison and all, to the dregs--why not? Men make the laws to suit themselves, so they make no law for the seducer. I had to be judge and jury; oh it was gay! He writhed--why not? What was it to the writhings of my spirit every hour in that accursed gilded prison-house! He died, my seducer; then I fled hither.
"Down--down--down I am going; beauty buys me no bread now; down--down!" and the fire died out from her eyes, and her head drooped upon her breast.
"Dreadful," said the horror-struck Rose, "don't talk so, I am a stranger here; but surely," and the crimson flush overspread her cheeks, "there must be Magdalen Asylums here."
"Oh, that's gay," said the half-crazed woman, laughing hysterically, "gay; they write 'Magdalen' over the door where you go in and out, they tell visitors you are a Magdalen,' when you want to hide your shame, and be good. They drag you _away_ from heaven, and then tell you to go there. Listen," and she lowered her voice, and laid her thin hand on that of Rose. "Listen, and I will tell you a story. Once, at the Magdalen Asylum, a young girl, half starved, and out of employment, came and asked for a shelter. They asked her 'if she was virtuous,' she said 'yes,' then they shut the door in her face, saying 'that their house was for Magdalens;' she wept, and wrung her hands, as she turned away into the dark night. Next day she came back, and said, 'take me in, now, I'm a Magdalen, now I shall have a shelter.' Oh it was gay; children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light. Satan is too busy; down, down. If Vincent sees your pretty face you'll go down, down, too, but Vincent's dead. Good-by, you are beautiful, more's the pity."
The poor, half-crazed creature pressed Rose's robe to her lips, and limped away, and like one under the influence of night-mare, Rose sat gazing spell-bound, after her retreating form without the power of speech or motion.