"Can you bear it?" asked Miss Plympton, anxiously, "this that I wish to
tell you? Perhaps I had better defer it."

"No," said Edith, in a forced voice. "No--now--now--tell me now. I can
bear whatever it is better than any horrible suspense."

Miss Plympton sighed, and leaning forward, she kissed the pale forehead
of the young girl. Then, after a little further delay, during which she
seemed to be collecting her thoughts, she began:

"I was governess once, Edith dearest, in your dear mamma's family. She
was quite a little thing then. All the rest were harsh, and treated me
like a slave; but she was like an angel, and made me feel the only real
happiness I knew in all those dreary days. I loved her dearly for her
gentle and noble nature. I loved her always, and I still love her
memory; and I love you as I loved her, and for her sake. And when she
gave you to me, on her death-bed, I promised her that I would be a
mother to you, dear. You have never known how much I love you--for I am
not demonstrative--but I do love you, my own Edith, most dearly, and I
would spare you this if I could. But, after all, it is a thing which you
must know some time, and before very long--the sooner the better."

"I wish to know it now," said Edith, as Miss Plympton hesitated,
speaking in a constrained voice, the result of the strong pressure which
she was putting on her feelings--"now," she repeated. "I can not wait.
I must know all to-day. What was it? Was it--crime?"

"The charge that was against him," said Miss Plympton, "involved crime.
But, my darling, you must remember always that an accusation is not the
same as a fact, even though men believe it; yes, even though the law may