my dear young lady, have you drank so deep
of the cup of sorrow! And have you not
found the great, the only true reality, at the
bottom?'

"She had loosed her hold of my hand, and
turned her head coldly away, as I uttered the
last speech.

"I asked her why she did so.

"'Because you talk like all the rest. At
ease yourselves, religious faith is an easy
matter to you. It is easy to give these
every-day religious consolations, when we
have nothing else to give. But they are things
of a peculiar character. If the soul does not
put them within itself, none upon earth can
bestow them. They are only given of God;
and it has not pleased Him to give them to
me. No,' she went on, with much emotion.
'If there be light in darkness, it shines not
for me. If out of the depths they call, and
He listens, He has not listened to me. My
prayers have been vain, and I have wearied
myself with offering them. There was no
help in them.'

"I was grieved and shocked to hear her
speak thus. I, however, ventured to urge my
point a little further.

"'But you did find help, somewhere?'

"'Not such as I wanted; not health and
strength to my poor darkened spirit.'

"'And why? 'Because they sought it
not in faith . . . '

"'Ah! faith! but who can command this
faith?'

"'Everybody.'

"'Everybody! If it has pleased God to
darken our understandings so that we do not
know him at all, it may be as you say. But
if we know him—not to trust in him—that
worst of faith must be our own fault.'

"She was silent, and seemed to sink into a
reverie, which I would not disturb. At last
she shook it off, and turning suddenly to me,
said, 'Clementina had got nearer this truth
than I had, or have. Yes, that it was—that
it must have been—which supported her in
circumstances far worse than mine. She was
patient, composed, resigned, and, in spite of
her natural feebleness, showed a strength
which I ever wanted. She endured better
than I do, when she lay low as I do now, and
suffered worse, far worse.  How was it?'

"'My strength is made perfect in weakness'
—Is not that said?'

"Again she fixed her eyes with a searching,
earnest, expression upon mine.

"'But, tell me,' I continued, 'how it fared
with you? I fear badly.'

"Perhaps you are not aware, Madam, how
much strength, both of body and spirit, it
requires to make a governess.'

"'I think I am aware of it, in good measure.'

"'There seems nothing very onerous in the
task of teaching children during a certain
number of hours every day, and living with
them during the rest. But, those who have
tried it alone know how irksome, how exhausting
is the wearisome routine of ungrateful
labour. My situation was tiresome enough.
They were a family of high-spirited children,
as wild as the hills in which they had been
bred, and whose greatest pleasure was to
torment their young governess; though I was
rather excited than depressed by our frequent
struggles for mastery. Then the mother,
when she did interfere, was sensible and just;
and she supported me when she thought me
right, through everything. If she disapproved,
too, I could be hot and unreasonable in my
turn, and she gently told me of my fault in
private, so as never to impair my authority.
She was a wise and excellent woman. A
good mother, and a true friend, even to her
governess. But it was different with Clementina.
Shut up in London, with a family of
cold-hearted, proud children, already spoiled
by the world, and never finding it possible to
satisfy an exacting mother, do what she would,
the task was soon too hard for her. The
more languid her health and spirits became,
the feebler her voice, the paler her cheek, the
greater was the dissatisfaction of the lady
whom she served. When the family doctor
was at last called in, he pronounced her to
be in so critical a state of health, that rest
and change of air were indispensable. So
she left, with fifteen pounds—a half-year's
salary.

'"Consumption had set in when I saw her.
What was to become of her? We knew of
no such place as this, then.

"'The lady whom I served was kind and considerate.
When I came to her in tears, she
bade me fly to my sister, and not return until
I had settled her somewhere in comfort. But
where was that to be? We had not a friend
in the world except one. She had been our
under nursery-maid. She was now a baker's
wife; but she had always loved us. She had
such a heart! And she did not fail us now.

"'She took my sister home, and insisted
upon keeping her. We could not allow this
to be done without offering what compensation
we could. My sister's little purse was
reserved for extraordinary expenses; and
I contrived out of my own salary to pay
a little weekly stipend to our good Matty.
She would not have taken it; but she had
a husband, and upon this point we were
resolved.'

"Here she paused, and raising her head
from her pillow, rested it upon her hand, and
looked round the room with an expression of
satisfaction which it gave me great pleasure to
see. The little apartment was plainly furnished
enough; but the walls were of a cheerful
colour, and the whole furniture was scrupulously
clean. The windows stood open, looking
upon a space in which a few green trees were
growing. The scene was more open, airy, and
quiet than one can usually obtain in London.
The air came in fresh and pleasant; the green