“Oh,” she said, with her eyes lifted devoutly to the cornice, “I sometimes wonder that these sacred walls—yes, I may be excused for calling them sacred, for are they not consecrated to charity?—I sometimes wonder that these walls do not fall down and crush the audacious wickedness that sometimes intrudes itself here. Young person, it is not that you have committed this heinous wrong which offends me. Our society is founded in sin, and established in iniquity. Our mission is more particularly to the sinful, and from them is derived our chief glory; but every one who comes here must contribute something to the cause. Are you willing to become an example, to confess your manifold sins, and give the particulars of your dissolute life, that they can be advertised in the public prints, and embodied in our own annual reports, setting forth the repentance which our kindness and prayers have wrought in you, and the heroism with which you published your crimes that others may take warning? By this means, my dear child, you will not only be snatched as a brand from the burning, but the cause will be strengthened, and means will flow in to secure other cases like your own; by this confession, our country friends, who have done so much for the regeneration of this vile city, will be satisfied that we are up and doing, in season and out of season.” The woman had arisen and taken Catharine’s hand in both hers, during the latter portion of this speech. The cold tears dropped, one by one, from her eyes, and rolled with sanctimonious slowness down her cheeks. “What is it that you desire of me?” said Catharine, bewildered by this solemn acting. “What have I done?” “What do I desire? Why, that you confess and forsake your sin, but especially confess. I am ready and willing to take down every word of the fearful narrative, as it falls from your lips. Oh! my dear child, you have it in your power to aid us in accomplishing a great work—begin, dear child, begin!” The woman seated herself at the table, and took up a steel pen, sharp and hard as herself, which she dipped in an inkstand, shook lightly, and held ready to pounce on a sheet of paper, already arranged, the moment Catharine’s lips should unclose. “Come, my poor, sweet child, don’t hesitate; take up the cross and begin; what was the first step?” “Madam, I do not understand. What do you wish me to say? I have done wrong in marrying my husband without the consent of his mother, but beyond this I have nothing but grief and poverty to confess!” Again the tears rolled down that woman’s face. She sighed heavily and shrouded her forehead with one hand. Then she shook her head, and looked mournfully at the two women, muttering something in a solemn undertone. At last she lifted up her head, and smiled benignly.