“I deserve nothing from you, Sadie,” she sobbed; “nothing but your hatred and contempt, for I have never been anything but your enemy. I only wonder how you could be so kind to mamma and so helpful to me at this dreadful time. You know, I suppose,” she went on, flushing, “that I am going to marry Norman Winthrop; I love him and—he loves me, even though he knows all. But I will never annoy you with my presence; we will go to live in some place where you and I need never meet. I am sorry and ashamed for—everything. I know that expresses very little, but, truly, to me it means a great deal.” This confession occurred just after their return from the burial of Mrs. Rochester, and Salome was too weary and exhausted to say much to the remorseful girl; besides, it had come upon her so unexpectedly that she scarcely knew how to answer her. “Let us not talk any more of this now,” she said, “for you are worn out with grief and watching; but, Sarah, you know that I am not vindictive. Now, let me help you to bed, and when you are rested, I will come to see you again.” Sarah Rochester knew that she was forgiven for all the wrong of the past by those few kind words, and for the first time in her life she wondered how she could have cherished a feeling of enmity toward one who was so thoroughly good and noble. During this season of trouble, Salome had, of course, been obliged to come in contact with Madame Winthrop and Evelyn, but she met them with quiet courtesy, and during all their intercourse, was as respectful as if she had entertained only the highest esteem for them. They were her husband’s mother and sister, and for his sake she was careful to show them all due regard. They were astonished at her. They knew, of course, that as Sister Angela she had accomplished almost miracles for them when she was at the chateau; but it had not seemed so wonderful then. They had looked up to her, relied upon her, and trusted in her, for such results had seemed only in accordance with her character as a nurse and sister of mercy. But now, as she moved so gently and deftly about the sick-room in all her delicate beauty, doing just the right thing at the right moment, and never sparing herself for one who had wronged and ill-used her for long years, they marvelled not only at her efficiency but at her loveliness of character and at her dignity of bearing under such trying circumstances. “I have lived in the world for fifty-five years,” Madame Winthrop said to herself one day, as she watched Salome, while, with exceeding gentleness, she bathed the hot face and hands of the sufferer and tried in other ways to make her more comfortable, “and I have never been the womanly woman that she is to-day in her youth.” It was not a pleasant reflection, but it helped on the good work—the better impulses and purposes that were beginning to take root in her heart. A week after Mrs. Rochester’s burial, Norman Winthrop sought Sarah and begged for an immediate marriage.