I was outraged, desperate, with no door of escape from a life that, losing its hope in God, had not yet learned to live for hope for man.
No door of escape?
The thought came like a flash: "There is one!" And before me there swung open, with lure of peace and of safety, the gateway into silence and security, the gateway of the tomb.

I was standing by the drawing-room window, staring hopelessly at the evening sky; with the thought came the remembrance that the means was at hand--the chloroform that had soothed my baby's pain, and that I had locked away upstairs.

I ran up to my room, took out the bottle, and carried it downstairs, standing again at the window in the summer twilight, glad that the struggle was over and peace at hand.

I uncorked the bottle, and was raising it to my lips, when, as though the words were spoken softly and clearly, I heard: "O coward, coward, who used to dream of martyrdom, and cannot bear a few short years of pain!" A rush of shame swept over me, and I flung the bottle far away among the shrubs in the garden at my feet, and for a moment I felt strong as for a struggle, and then fell fainting on the floor.

Only once again in all the strifes of my career did the thought of suicide recur, and then it was but for a moment, to be put aside as unworthy a strong soul.
My new friend, Mr.D----, proved a very real help.