When she recovered it was daylight; and, weak and exhausted, she crept to the couch, and throwing herself upon it, endeavoured to forget her misery in sleep.
But, as is usually the case with the afflicted, it fled her eyelids, and she passed several hours in the severest mental torture, unrelieved by a single cheering thought.
About the middle of the day, the door of the cell was opened by an old woman with a morose and forbidding countenance, attended by a younger female, who resembled her in all but the expression of her features (her look was gentle and compassionate), and who appeared to be her daughter.
Without paying any attention to Viviana, the old woman took a small loaf of bread and other provisions from a basket she had brought with her, and placed them on the table.

This done, she was about to depart, when her daughter, who had glanced uneasily at the couch, observed in a kindly tone, "Shall we not inquire whether we can be of service to the poor young lady, mother ?" "Why should we concern ourselves about her, Ruth ?" returned the old woman, sharply.

"If she wants anything, she has a tongue, and can speak.
If she desires further comforts," she added, in a significant tone, "they must be _paid_ for." "I desire nothing but death," groaned Viviana.
"The poor soul is dying, I believe," cried Ruth, rushing to the couch.
"Have you no cordial-water about you, mother ?" "Truly have I," returned the old woman; "and I have other things besides.

But I must be paid for them." As she spoke she drew from her pocket a small, square, Dutch-shaped bottle.
"Give it me," cried Ruth, snatching it from her.

"I am sure the young lady will pay for it." "You are very kind," said Viviana, faintly.