The story
“An unknown girl, dying on a hard cot in a prison cell, whispers to her father confessor the story of her crime: ‘It wasn’t a year ago that I met him. We lived in the country—mother and I. Father was dead. Mother had always kept me so much to herself. We had few friends—and I never had a lover. Then he came. Mother never knew, from the first time I met him in the woods, where he was sketching. I was garlanded in flowers that day, and I was kneeling by the brook, looking at myself in the water. He told me I was beautiful and begged me to pose for him. At first I was afraid. But day after day, I went to him little by little, and I forgot to fear him—and he told me he loved me, and I—oh, I never can tell you how he wound himself about my heart! Then he went away. I waited for weeks—for months—but no word came. At last, to remain longer unwed would have meant disgrace to me and a broken heart for my mother. I went to seek him. I found him in the arms of another woman, who laughed at me and ordered him to turn me out into the streets. Not a word or look of love had he for me—only anger, because I was imperiling his ambitious plans. But I felt that if I could see him alone, all would yet be right. So that night I went back to him. He was sleeping. Suddenly the memory of the other woman came between him and me, and I picked up a strange knife lying on the table, thinking to kill him as he slept and so have him for my very own. But the knife slipped to the floor. I loved him—I would renounce him forever. I turned to go—and there, in the doorway, she stood. She spoke angrily, and he waked. He flung me aside, and I fell. The knife was beside me. I can’t remember the rest—only, as he turned to drive me from him—it happened.’ The girl’s eyes closed. The priest stooped to catch the last, faint whisper: ‘His child dies—with me. Father—can there be—forgiveness—for such as I?’”
Summary from Reel Life · 4 December 1915
