But I have done a wrong! Oh, listen, listen to
me, my friends. I have left a child, a young creature, unprovided
for--without any one to help her. And must that be? Must she bear it, and
I bear it, forever, and no means, no way of setting it right? Listen to
me! I was there last night,--in the middle of the night I was still
there,--and here this morning. So it must be easy to come--only a short
way; and two words would be enough,--only two words!"
They gathered closer and closer round her, full of compassion. "It is
easy to come," they said, "but not to go."
And one added, "It will not be forever; comfort yourself. When she comes
here, or to a better place, that will seem to you only as a day.
"But to her," cried Lady Mary,--"to her it will be long years--it will be
trouble and sorrow; and she will think I took no thought for her; and she
will be right," the penitent said with a great and bitter cry.
It was so terrible that they were all silent, and said not a
word,--except the man who had loved her, who put his hand upon her arm,
and said, "We are here for that; this is the fire that purges us,--to see
at last what we have done, and the true aspect of it, and to know the
cruel wrong, yet never be able to make amends."
She remembered then that this was a man who had neglected all lawful
affections, and broken the hearts of those who trusted him for her sake;
and for a moment she forgot her own burden in sorrow for his.
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