The poor, lonesome, miserable girl lay upon her bed and thought. It was not quite a year since she had lain in her mother’s arms and heard her say,—
“Try to live nobly for my sake.”
Those had been almost her mother’s last words; after them there was only the low sigh, faint as if it came already from far-off worlds,—
“Good-by, darling.”
The low sun-rays stole in softly, and touched her sad, pale face, and then went away; and after a while some cold, far-off stars looked down into the window, and saw the girl lying there still, fighting her battle with herself.
One thing her conscience told her,—that she must undo this wrong, at whatever cost of shame.
Once she started up, half-resolved to go to her aunt and tell her the whole story, and seek her help and counsel. But she lay down again, without the courage to confess her shame.
Through the long night she scarcely slept; but before morning she had resolved what to do. In public she had taken the wages of her sin; in public she would make atonement, and eat the bitter bread of humiliation.
When she had once settled on her course of action, sleep touched her weary eyes, and soothed her into a forgetfulness from which only the breakfast-bell awoke her.