She stood silent and thoughtful for a full minute after Helen ceased speaking, and when at length she slowly lifted her heavily fringed lids the previous expression of mockery and malice in her eyes had been replaced by a look of mingled dejection and shame.
"Well--you've won!" she began, in a low, repressed tone; then she suddenly turned her back upon Helen, and stood looking stoically off over the green slope beyond them, where the happy children were still playing, their fresh young voices and joyous laughter falling musically upon the summer air.
Helen watched her curiously, something in her attitude instinctively appealing to her, and preventing her from using her opportunity to slip away from the place, as she was half tempted to do.
Presently the woman turned back to her, with an evident effort to control the emotions that had well-nigh overcome her.
"Yes, you've won," she repeated, her chin quivering in spite of her. "You've given me a facer I didn't expect, and I have nothing more to say. You needn't be afraid, either, that I will ever lift a finger to harm you or the girl, after this. You're game, through and through, to have stood up under all that I know you have--to say nothing about that money--and weathered the breakers. I'm far from being a saint, but I am not all bad, and I do love little children. I used to think I would love to have a home, like other people, and a little daughter of my own, and I would live on crusts before I would ever rob a child of its birthright, and if I have helped to squander your girl's, why--I--it won't be very comfortable to remember for the rest of my days."
Her voice suddenly broke, and she was obliged to pause.
"Life is a strange muddle," she presently went on, with a queer catch in her breath, while she searched Helen's white face with a look of mingled respect and yearning, "and woman, somehow, seems to get the worst of it in the struggle. Some of us drift with the current when troubles come, and go steadily downstream to our ruin; others, like you, resolutely grip the helm, and work their way back to a safe harbor. I will never cross your path again, Helen Hungerford--you are justly entitled to the victory you have gained over adverse circumstances without being made to fight your battles all over again. I've envied you, and I've hated you, for John was continually throwing your superior virtues in my face; but you have robbed me of my fangs today, and from now on I will never place a straw in your path."