She sits tipped back in one chair, with her feet in another, laughs
loudly at every poor little joke, and responds, in a silly affectionate
manner, to all his words of love, and when he makes proposals to which
she would have scorned to listen at any other time, she not only
listens but gives consent to all, and does not leave the house that
night.

When she awakens next morning, it is in a strange room. Her head whirls,
she gazes abstractedly about her and tries to shake off what seems to
her to be a horrid dream, but she is brought suddenly to realize that it
is no sleeping fancy, but a steam reality, as a low voice by her side
says,

"Did you rest easy, my dear?"

"My God!" she fairly shrieks, as the awful truth bursts upon her, "is it
possible, or am I dreaming?" and she passes her hand wildly across her
face.

"Do not excite yourself, my dear; you are not well. You will feel better
presently."

"Better!" she cries, bursting into tears. "Better!! What is life to me
now that you have robbed me of my virtue? Oh! that I should have sunken
into such depths of sin, and that you, vile man, whom I trusted, should
have led me to it."

She tries to rise, but finds herself too weak and dizzy, and falls back
heavily upon her pillow.