so,
my child?"

I suppose Mother Ada would say I was exceedingly carnal. But something
in the touch of that soft, wrinkled hand, in whose veins I knew ran mine
own blood, seemed to break down all my defences. I laid my head down on
the coverlet, my cheek upon her hand, and in answer I poured forth all
that had been so long shut close in mine own heart--that longing cry
within me for some real, warm, human love, that ceaseless regret for the
lost happiness which was meant to have been mine.

"O Mother, Mother! is it wicked in me?" I cried. "You, who are so near
God, you should see with clearer eyes than we, lost in the tangled
wilderness of this world. Is it wicked of me to dream of that lost
love, and of all that it might have been to me? Am I his true wife, or
is she--whoever that she may be? Am I robbing; God when I love any
other creature? Must I only love any one in Heaven? and am I to prepare
for that by loving nobody here on earth?"

The door opened softly, and the Sister who was to share my watch came
in. She must have heard my closing words.

"My child!" said the faint voice of the dear Mother, who had always felt
to me more like what I supposed mothers to be than any other I had
known--"my child, `it is impossible that scandals should not come: but
woe unto them through whom they come!' It seems to me probable that one
sin may be written in many books: that the actor, and the inciter, and
the abettor--ay, and those who might have prevented, and did not--may
all have their share. Thy coming hither, and thy religious life, having
received no vocation of God, was not thy fault, poor, helpless,
oppressed child! and such temptations as distress thee, therefrom
arising, will not be laid to thy charge as sins. But if thou let a
temptation slide into a sin by consenting thereto, by cherishing and
pursuing it with delight, then art thou not guiltless. That thou
shouldst feel thyself unhappy here, in an unsuitable place, and that
thou mightest have been a happier woman in the wedded life of the
world,--that is no marvel: truly, I think it of thee myself. To know it
is no sin: to repine and murmur thereat, these are forbidden. Thy lot
is appointed of God Himself--God, thy Father, who loveth thee, who hath
given Himself for thee, who pleased not Himself when He came down to die
for thee. Are there not here drops of honey to sweeten the bitter cup?
And if thou want another yet, then remember how short th