"If he could only be cleared! Perhaps it would save him yet."
"Yes. It seems to be imprisonment which is killing him; but nothing less than a miracle could make any change now, and there are no miracles in our days."
"Ah! mamma, has not a miracle been worked already?"
"How?"
"Only a little while ago remember how we thought and spoke of him—and now—"
"You are right, my child; but the agencies which have worked this miracle are very earthly ones—pain and sorrow, and false accusation."
"Mamma, I think this is better than the old life of terror, and perhaps hatred."
"Far better, far better. Yes, through dark and painful means a better end is coming. But it is hard to think that you must live through all your life under the shadow of a supposed crime. For us who have sinned life is nearly over, our punishment was just, and it will soon be ended. It is you, my child, whom I have so tried to shield, who must bear the heaviest penalty."
"No, mother, do not think so. When all this is over we shall go away, you and I, and be very happy together again; and the happiness will be more equally balanced than it was in the old days when you had so much care and I none. And then, if ever I am left alone, I shall go and be a Sister of Charity or one of Miss Nightingale's nurses, and be too busy and useful to be unhappy."
Mrs. Costello stooped down and kissed her child's forehead.