’Meanwhile, a new revolution had taken place in the mind of the passionate but nobly-tempered child.  All these months nothing but the sense of injury had rankled in her heart.  She had gone on in one mood, doing what the demon prompted, without scruple, and without fear.

’But at the moment of detection, the tide ebbed, and the bottom of her soul lay revealed to her eye.  How black, how stained, and sad!  Strange, strange, that she had not seen before the baseness and cruelty of falsehood, the loveliness of truth!  Now, amid the wreck, uprose the moral nature, which never before had attained the ascendant.  “But,” she thought, “too late sin is revealed to me in all its deformity, and sin-defiled, I will not, cannot live.  The main-spring of life is broken.”

’The lady who took charge of this sad child had never well understood her before, but had always looked on her with great tenderness.  And now love seemed,—­when all around were in the greatest distress, fearing to call in medical aid, fearing to do without it,—­to teach her where the only balm was to be found that could heal the wounded spirit.

’One night she came in, bringing a calming draught.  Mariana was sitting as usual, her hair loose, her dress the same robe they had put on her at first, her eyes fixed vacantly upon the whited wall.  To the proffers and entreaties of her nurse, she made no reply.

    ’The lady burst into tears, but Mariana did not seem even to
    observe it.

’The lady then said, “O, my child, do not despair; do not think that one great fault can mar a whole life!  Let me trust you; let me tell you the griefs of my sad life.  I will tell you, Mariana, what I never expected to impart to any one.”

’And so she told her tale.  It was one of pain, of shame, borne not for herself, but for one near and dear as herself.  Mariana knew the dignity and reserve of this lady’s nature.  She had often admired to see how the cheek, lovely, but no longer young, mantled with the deepest blush of youth, and the blue eyes were cast down at any little emotion.  She had understood the proud sensibility of her character.  She fixed her eyes on those now raised to hers, bright with fast-falling tears.  She heard the story to the end, and then, without saying a word, stretched out her hand for the cup.

’She returned to life, but it was as one who had passed through the valley of death.  The heart of stone was quite broken in her,—­the fiery will fallen from flame to coal.  When her strength was a little restored, she had all her companions summoned, and said to them,—­“I deserved to die, but a generous trust has called me back to life.  I will be worthy of it, nor ever betray the trust, or resent injury more.  Can you forgive the