"To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself--nay, more
than life,--for without his assistance I should have perished, body and
soul. He has been a father to me and my child."

"I never doubted the latter point, I assure you, Madam," observed Mrs.
Wood.

"You have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is
irreclaimable. Do not believe it, Madam. It is not so. The poor wretch,
driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul
abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without
the pale of mercy. I have suffered--I have sinned--I have repented. And,
though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though
tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet,
knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my
transgressions may be forgiven."

"Mighty fine!" ejaculated Mrs. Wood, contemptuously.

"You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. Blest with
a fond husband, surrounded by every comfort, _you_ have never been
assailed by the horrible temptations to which misery has exposed _me_.
You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. You have
never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no
relief to be obtained. You have never felt the hearts of all hardened
against you; have never heard the jeer or curse from every lip; nor
endured the insult and the blow from every hand. I _have_ suffered all
this. I could resist the tempter _now_, I am strong in health,--in mind.
But _then_--Oh! Madam, there are moments--moments of darkness, which
overshadow a whole existence--in the lives of the poor houseless
wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted;
when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and
when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. Pardon what I have said,
Madam. I do not desire to extenuate my guilt--far less to defend it; but
I would show you, and such as you--who, happily, are exempted from
trials like mine--how much misery has to do with crime. And I affirm to
you, on my own conviction, that she who falls, because she has not
strength granted her to struggle with affliction, _may_ be
reclaimed,--may repent, and be forgiven,--even as she, whose sins,
'though many, were forgiven her'.

"It gladdens me to hear you talk thus, Joan," said Wood, in a voice of
much emotion, while his eyes filled with tears, "and