"You do repent," the Pilgrim said.

"Oh," cried the poor woman, "what has the like of you to do with me? Now
I look at you I never saw any one that was like you before. Don't you
hate me?--don't you loathe me? I do myself. It's so ugly to go wrong. I
think now I would almost rather die and be done with it. You will say
that is because I am going to get better. I feel a great deal better
now. Do you think I am going to get over it? Oh, I am better! I could
get up out of bed and walk about. Yes, but I am not in bed; where have
you brought me? Never mind, it is a fine air; I shall soon get well
here."

The Pilgrim was silent for a little, holding her hands. And then she
said--

"Tell me how you feel now," in her soft voice.

The woman had sat up and was gazing round her. "It is very strange," she
said; "it is all confused. I think upon my mother and the old prayers I
used to say. For a long, long time I always said my prayers; but now
I've got hardened, they say. Oh, I was once as fresh as any one. It all
comes over me now. I feel as if I were young again--just come out of the
country. I am sure that I could walk."

The little Pilgrim raised her up, holding her by her hands; and she
stood and gazed round about her, making one or two doubtful steps. She
was very pale, and the light was dim; her eyes peered into it with a
scared yet eager look. She made another step, then stopped again.

"I am quite well," she said. "I could walk a mile. I could walk any