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 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 have healed this 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 to 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 lady,
knew the pride and reserve of her 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 the 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 has passed through the