When that knowledge comes, it is as if a cloud had suddenly gathered over the morning light; so dark a cloud, that there seems to be no longer any sunshine behind it or above it.  The character of our individual beloved one having invested itself with all the attributes of right,—­that one friend being to us the symbol and representative of whatever is good and true,—­when he falls, the effect is almost as if the sky fell with him, bringing down in chaotic ruin the columns that upheld our faith.  We struggle forth again, no doubt, bruised and bewildered.  We stare wildly about us, and discover—­or, it may be, we never make the discovery—­that it was not actually the sky that has tumbled down, but merely a frail structure of our own rearing, which never rose higher than the housetops, and has fallen because we founded it on nothing.  But the crash, and the affright and trouble, are as overwhelming, for the time, as if the catastrophe involved the whole moral world.  Remembering these things, let them suggest one generous motive for walking heedfully amid the defilement of earthly ways!  Let us reflect, that the highest path is pointed out by the pure Ideal of those who look up to us, and who, if we tread less loftily, may never look so high again.

Hilda’s situation was made infinitely more wretched by the necessity of Confining all her trouble within her own consciousness.  To this innocent girl, holding the knowledge of Miriam’s crime within her tender and delicate soul, the effect was almost the same as if she herself had participated in the guilt.  Indeed, partaking the human nature of those who could perpetrate such deeds, she felt her own spotlessness impugnent.

Had there been but a single friend,—­or not a friend, since friends were no longer to be confided in, after Miriam had betrayed her trust,—­but, had there been any calm, wise mind, any sympathizing intelligence; or, if not these, any dull, half-listening ear into which she might have flung the dreadful secret, as into an echoless cavern, what a relief would have ensued!  But this awful loneliness!  It enveloped her whithersoever she went.  It was a shadow in the sunshine of festal days; a mist between her eyes and the pictures at which she strove to look; a chill dungeon, which kept her in its gray twilight and fed her with its unwholesome air, fit only for a criminal to breathe and pine in!  She could not escape from it.  In the effort to do so, straying farther into the intricate passages of our nature, she stumbled, ever and again, over this deadly idea of mortal guilt.

Poor sufferer for another’s sin!  Poor wellspring of a virgin’s heart, into which a murdered corpse had casually fallen, and whence it could not be drawn forth again, but lay there, day after day, night after night, tainting its sweet atmosphere with the scent of crime and ugly death!