strength which made a struggle possible under such circumstances.

Even now she would not yield. I have said that there had been no
hypocrisy in her misery during those weeks last past; and I have said
so truly. But there had perhaps been some pretences, some acting of a
part, some almost necessary pretence as to her weakness. Was she not
bound to account to those around her for her great sorrow? And was it
not above all things needful that she should enlist their sympathy
and obtain their aid? She had been obliged to cry to them for help,
though obliged also to confess that there was little reason for such
crying. "I am a woman, and weak," she had said, "and therefore cannot
walk alone, now that the way is stony." But what had been the truth
with her? How would she have cried, had it been possible for her to
utter the sharp cry of her heart? The waters had been closing over
her head, and she had clutched at a hand to save her; but the owner
of that hand might not know how imminent, how close was the danger.

But in these days, as she sat in her own room with Mrs. Orme, the
owner of that hand might know everything. The secret had been told,
and there was no longer need for pretence. As she could now expose
to view the whole load of her wretchedness, so also could she make
known the strength that was still left for endurance. And these two
women who had become endeared to each other under such terrible
circumstances, came together at these meetings with more of the
equality of friendship than had ever existed at The Cleeve. It may
seem strange that it should be so--strange that the acknowledged
forger of her husband's will should be able to maintain a better
claim for equal friendship than the lady who was believed to be
innocent and true! But it was so. Now she stood on true ground;--now,
as she sat there with Mrs. Orme, she could speak from her heart,
pouring forth the real workings of her mind. From Mrs. Orme she had
no longer aught to fear; nor from Sir Peregrine. Everything was known
to them, and she could now tell of every incident of her crime with
an outspoken boldness that in itself was incompatible with the humble
bearing of an inferior in the presence of one above her.

And she did still hope. The one point to be gained was this; that
her son, her only son, the child on whose behalf this crime had been
committed, should never know her shame, or live to be disgraced by
her guilt. If she could be punished, she