she had known any they would have been of
little use to her, for hers was a nature requiring comfort of a
stronger kind than that which most friends can supply. It was
unfortunate, and yet she was spared that aggravation of torture which
is inflicted by people who offer vague commonplaces, or what they call
"hopes;" she was spared also that savage disappointment to which many
are doomed who in their trouble find that all philosophy fails them,
and the books on their shelves look so impotent, so beside the mark,
that they narrowly escape being pitched into the fire.

Andrew began to recover slowly, but he could do no work, and Miriam had
to think about some employment for herself in order to prevent deeper
immersion in debt. It was very difficult to find anything for a girl
who had been brought up to no trade; but at last, through the kindness
of her landlady, she obtained second-hand an introduction to the
manager of an immense drapery firm which did a large business through
circulars sent all over the country. Miriam was employed in addressing
the circulars. It was work which she could do at home, and by writing
incessantly for about seven hours a day she could earn twelve shillings
a week. The occupation was detestable, and it was with the greatest
difficulty that she could persevere with it; but after some time it
ceased to be quite so repulsive.

Her relief, however, was the relief of stupefaction and not of
reconciliation. Sorrow took the form of revolt. It had always been so
with her whenever anything was the matter with her: it was the sense of
wrong which made it so intolerable. What had she done, she said to
herself a hundred times a day, that she should have been betrayed into
wretched poverty, that she should have been deserted, and that her
fortunes should have been linked with those of an imbecile brother.

Andrew was still very weak--he could hardly speak; and as he lay there
impassive, Miriam's hatred of his silent white face increased. She had
too much self-control to express herself; but at times she was almost
on the point of breaking out, of storming at him, and asking him
whether he had no pity for her. One night, as she sat brooding at the
window, and her trouble seemed almost too much for her, and she thought
she must give way under it, a barrel organ stopped and began playing a
melody from an opera by Verdi. The lovely air wound its way into
Miriam's heart; but it did not console her