they had never been, and for that instant nowhere did the sun's
far-reaching eye rest on a blither or more innocent face. Then memory
laid its icy finger on her heart and stilled its bounding pulse. The glad
smile went out, like a taper quenched in Acheron, and she fell prone upon
the floor, crying with hard, dry sobs, "O God! O God! O God!"

That day, and for many days afterward, she thought again and again of
that single happy instant ere memory reclaimed its victim. It was the
first for so long a time, and it was so very sweet, like a drop of water
to one in torment. What a heaven a life must be which had many such
moments! Was it possible that once, long ago, her life had been such an
one--that she could awake mornings and not be afraid of remembering? Had
there ever been a time when the ravens of shame and remorse had not
perched above her bed as she slept, waiting her waking to plunge their
beaks afresh into her heart? That instant of happiness which had been
given her, how full it had been of blithe thanks to God and sympathy with
the beautiful life of the world! Surely it showed that she was not bad,
that she could have such a moment. It showed her heart was pure; it was
only her memory that was foul. It was in vain that she swept and washed
all within, and was good, when all the while her memory, like a ditch
from a distant morass, emptied its vile stream of recollections into her
heart, poisoning all the issues of life.

Years before, in one of the periodical religious revivals at Newville,
she had passed through the usual girlish experience of conversion. Now,
indeed, was a time when the heavenly compensations to which religion
invites the thoughts of the sorrowful might surely have been a source of
dome relief. But a certain cruel clearness of vision, or so at least it
seemed to her, made all reflections on this theme but an aggravation of
her despair. Since the shadow had fallen on her life, with every day the