id? You are one of
the sisters, and you want to frighten me and make me repent?"

"You do repent," the Pilgrim said.

"Oh," cried the poor woman, "what has the like of you to do with me? Now
I look at you I never saw any one that was like you before. Don't you
hate me?--don't you loathe me? I do myself. It's so ugly to go wrong. I
think now I would almost rather die and be done with it. You will say
that is because I am going to get better. I feel a great deal better
now. Do you think I am going to get over it? Oh, I am better! I could
get up out of bed and walk about. Yes, but I am not in bed; where have
you brought me? Never mind, it is a fine air; I shall soon get well
here."

The Pilgrim was silent for a little, holding her hands. And then she
said--

"Tell me how you feel now," in her soft voice.

The woman had sat up and was gazing round her. "It is very strange," she
said; "it is all confused. I think upon my mother and the old prayers I
used to say. For a long, long time I always said my prayers; but now
I've got hardened, they say. Oh, I was once as fresh as any one. It all
comes over me now. I feel as if I were young again--just come out of the
country. I am sure that I could walk."

The little Pilgrim raised her up, holding her by her hands; and she
stood and gazed round about her, making one or two doubtful steps. She
was very pale, and the light was dim; her eyes peered into it with a
scared yet eager look. She made another step, then stopped again.

"I am quite well," she said. "I could walk a mile. I could walk any
distance. What was that you said? Oh, I tell you I am better! I am not
going to die."

"You will never, never die," said the little Pilgrim; "are you not glad
it is all over? Oh, I was so glad! And all the more you should be glad
if you were so much afraid."

But this woman was not glad. She shrank away from her companion, then
came close to her again, and gripped her with her hands.

"It is your fun," she said, "or just to frighten me; perhaps you think
it will do me no harm as I am getting so well--you want to frighten me
to make me good. But I mean to be good without that--I do! I do! When
one is so near dying as I have been and yet gets better--for I am going
to get better? Yes! you know it as well as I."

The little Pilgrim made no reply, but stood by looking at her charge,
not feeling that anything was given her to say; and she was so new to
this work that there was a little