inaccessibility, and lightened her heart with Baron H., who now, as she declared, was the only man with whom she could speak a sensible word. Filius through this found himself in better case with her than formerly. these absurd goings on, as well as against Clara's | thrusts itself between the best friends, like a sorcery cooked by bad spirits? Each sees it, but it is not to be overcome; an insurmountable, invisible obstacle stands in the way; we suffer, we avoid one another, we doubt whether it can possibly be the same person as formerly. Then requires it only an insignificant cause, a trifling word, to produce a division, whence is no return, and which no kindness can heal. The wounds. which distrust gives bleed so long! And yet let me, my reader, here make a reservation, for my heart is full of this matter, and would fain open itself out before thee. I must, then, solemnly protest against that which I have just asserted. No; I believe it not. The real, the genuine friends do not separate. Edla contemplated with growing uneasiness the triumph of her favorite. She had wished to introduce by degrees the tender bloom which she had so long sheathed and guarded in the shades of peace, to life, to activity, and to another atmosphere; and now she saw her suddenly exposed to the scorching beams of the mid-day sun. At first, she tried expostulations with her father against it; but he, opposed to the will of his wife, was much too weak, and desired expressly that Nina should entirely follow the wishes of There are people whose words fall like a the Countess. That she might not lose the child frosty day on the earth, and make all that is of her cares and of her heart completely out of blooming and odorous vanish. They say " All her sight, there now remained nothing for Edla is vanity under the sun. This seems to us but to make part of the everlasting company. great, that lovely and pleasant; but who may This was as little agreeable to the Countess as it put his confidence in men? That which at the was painful and wearisome to Edla. She ex- first was so hot, grows all the more so speedily changed her beloved quiet solitude, for a society cool. The exhalation must quickly fly, or it in which she felt herself out of place, and as- would soon lead to the madhouse. The daily, sumed near Nina the involuntary part of a the customary, that is the best and safest. And gloomy Argus. The Countess soon let Edla feel then follow examples and stories "out of real how superfluous was her presence, and did what life," which are to confirm all this; brand enthusishe could by petty humiliations and slights to asm as folly; designate love and friendship as drive her from her brilliant saloon. Edla was of a fleeting effervescence, or as selfish sentiments; too lofty a character, and had made her soul too reduce man to a nullity; and convert life into free, to suffer herself to be wounded by pin-dishwater. And truly it is only too certain, that pricks; but for Nina also was her presence uselife has a very empty, dry, and poverty-stricken less, and by her also, as it seemed, was she over- side; that many a purple mantle on the scene is looked. This pained her deeply. Besides, the only painted; many a flame goes up in smoke; stepmother invaded most disturbingly Edla's that the glittering jewel on closer examination whole life. By imperceptible but certain modes, proves only a bit of glass; and that which apall power in the house, all interest in the man- pears alive is inwardly dead. What then? Beagement, was withdrawn from her. The old cause a pool dries up, shall we therefore not domestics were dismissed, the new ones could believe in the fresh spring? Because a meteor only obey the Countess; and thus Edla saw daily and a street lamp go out, are these then no eternal more and more how unnecessary she was in her sun-no heavenly, holy lights? God be praised father's house and to the company. She with- and blessed! there are those which warm and drew in silence to her solitary room, and ap- light us to all eternity. And if the immortal clearpeared only at the dinner table, but always friend-ness of our own life and heart remained not, it ly and quiet. My sweet female reader! thou were not worth the trouble of living! who wilt probably understand how gnawing such a domestic position must be, how easily it can embitter heart and mind-oh say, must it not have been a beautiful, a noble doctrine which enabled Edla to conduct herself with so much repose, gentleness, and good sense? In her solitude she found a freer, better company than in the circle she abandoned-and she could have been truly contented and happy in it, had she not missed so painfully her loved pupil, her former daily companion. As she saw that this dissipated life agreed with Nina's health extremely, she was careful to conceal her feelings. When she once asked her beautiful sister whether the present course gave her pleasure, she replied, with her accustomed love of truth-"Yes; it is so pleasant to please and to be beloved." Edla laid up this word in her bosom: it gave her pain. "Do I not love her too?" thought she; "though I do not flatter her, or misguide her. I would lay down my life for her!" She regarded herself now as misunderstood also by Nina; she became even stiller and more retiring. Nina found Edla cold, unsympathizing. There lay a cloud between the two sisters. Each felt a secret tear well from her soul on this account. Why do we not let them flow? Why may we not betray what the tongue hesitates to acknowledge? What is it which so often, at least for a time, It is a sad experience-who can describe its bitterness?-when we see the friend on whom we have built for eternity grow cold in his feelings, and becoming lost to us. But believe it not, thou loving, sorrowing soul, believe it not! Continue thyself only, and the moment will come when thy friend will return to thee; when, at the sound of thy voice, at the pressure of thy hand, his heart will beat quicker; yes, though the separation last long And pressed I here no more the ardent hand, I yet should grasp it in the better land. Yes, there, where all delusions cease-there, be-yond the clouds, the friend will find thee again in a higher light, will acknowledge thee, and unite himself to thee for ever. But, friendly reader, I probably kill thee with my digressions. Pardon me, and follow me back, on the little serpentine path of a flower-simile, which it is impossible for me to pass by. Evening is a precious time for friends who live together. Married people know it well, and brothers and sisters know it too. Contrary to the flowers of nature, which close their chalices at the close of the day, the loveliest flower of friendship-confidence-loves most to expand itself at evening, and breathes forth its fragrance most gladly under the protection of twilight and silence. Then talk we over the questions of the day; then conclude we peace with our hearts, if we have opened them before to our friend; then seek we reconciliation from heaven, and offer it to the world, ere yet the night comes; and then sleep we so sound and sweetly. Thus was it formerly with Edla and Nina. Now it was otherwise. How gladly would Edla, as formerly, at the evening of a day which they had not spent together, have looked into Nina's soul. Now Nina came constantly so late from company, that Edla did not venture further to abridge her sleep, which in her now fatiguing life was become more requisite than ever. In the morning Nina naturally slept long, and scarcely was dressed before the Countess appeared to take her down with her. Nina was too weak to oppose herself to this despotism, which she moreover, through the wishes of her father, and through Edla's sullen silence, held to be justifiable. Yes, she even believed that it was really most agreeable to Edla to be able to follow undisturbed her favourite pursuits. tionship in which we stand one to another. Without this judgment there is everlasting confusion; with it, on the contrary, peace and clearness! Nina did not return till toward midnight. Softly and gently as the west wind over flowers, she approached Edla's bed. Her eyes were closed. Nina believed that she slept, and stooped over to kiss her hand; but the hand moved itself, laid itself tenderly round Nina's neck, and drew her sweet countenance to Edla's cheek. "Good night!" whispered the sisters to each other. It did their hearts good; they best understood each other. Nina slept with a happy angel-smile, and a mild firm thought lay on Edla's quiet brow. When the first rays of morning illumined the chamber, Edla's suffering was past; she felt only a slight faintness in her limbs; but in her soul stood her projected plan firmer than ever.. She went over it once more in her thoughts. "My father needs me no longer; his wife is at present all for him. I see that he avoids me: that my presence gives him no pleasure. Nina breathes more new enjoyments and delights; L cannot, and would not, withhold them froin her. I will be no impediment to her; will not spoil her enjoyments; not, like a gloomy shadow, hang over her days. She shall not learn to regard seriousness as something irksome, nor find her truest friend troublesome. Perhaps at this moment I am not that to her which I really ought to be. Perhaps something mistrustful and wearisome has stolen into my soul; perhaps I cannot now be exactly just toward my father, his wife, nor toward Nina; perhaps I feel a real bitterness, because I am all at once so totally forgotten, so superfluous-as it is, however, quite natural that I should. They enjoy the beautiful, the agreeable, the exhilarating-none of which ĺ am. Have they done me also a certain injustice-should Nina especially-Nina not be as she One day Edla was seized with a violent nervous headache. According to her custom she suffered without complaining, and lay perfectly still on her sofa. Every one who has experienced this complaint knows how unpleasantly anything ugly and annoying operates, during its paroxysm, on the senses of the sufferer. Nina sat by Edla and read to her in a low voice, while Edla refreshed herself with gazing on the pure sweet features of her sister, and found the presence of the beloved and beautiful like a longedfor heart's cordial. Then came the Countess to call Nina. There were several acquaintances below; it was wished to act some scenes from Filhiof's Saga; but Nina was wanting, nothing could be done without Nina-Nina! the new lovely Ingeborg. But Nina was happy with her sister, who looked so affectionately on her; happy in the thought that she alleviated her suffer-might-should-Oh! she shall learn this through ing, and rejoiced her by her reading. She cast an imploring glance at her sister, and asked in a tone which solicited a yes "Do you need me, Edla?" Edla misunderstood look and tone; a breath of bitterness passed over her soul, and she answered with some sharpness no ill-will, through no ill-humor on my part. I will go hence, that Nina may know nothing of this-but I will come back, and then press her afresh to my bosom. Only for a brief moment can Nina estrange herself from me-she will soon belong to me again. She is the child of my heart, nothing can part her from me for ever. But now I am here, a troubling burden to all in the house. Therefore I will withdraw. My cousin S― needs now a helpful friend. I will go to her for some months. I will free my family from a troubling aspect, from a silent reproof. My soul shall be refreshed by a new activity. I will return with a better mind, with fresher thought; and I hope then to contemplate the re "No! go only, I need thee not." Nina stood hastily up. The answer went like a stab to her heart. She followed the Countess. At the door she stood still; she felt an earnest desire to press to her lips the beloved hand which thus cast her forth; her heart swelled with tenderness and grief; but Edla just then turned her face toward the wall. The Countess urged her not to linger. Nina pressed her hand to her agon-lationships here with a more impartial eye. I ized bosom and went. Edla had turned away from Nina-wherefore? Because two great tears against her will rolled down her cheeks. How many fathers, how many mothers, have wept such tears over their favorite!-and certainly with greater cause. These are bitter tears. But Edla never felt a pain without steeling her heart against it; she never shed a tear without a vigorous resolution ripening itself through it. This was the case now. A thought which had long hovered indistinctly before her soul, struck in this hour firm root; and while every pulse in her head throbbed painfully, her heart beat unquietly, with steady reflection she threw out a plan for the future. The necessary condition for a possible quietude of life is a clear judgment on ourselves, on those with whom we share our days, and on the rela D will then really be for all. May Nina in the As these thoughts passed through Edla's soul, she stood at the window and saw the wind travel among the clouds, which flew rapidly on in gray and white masses, and let the stars, already paling at the approach of day, glance forth. Edla contemplated with pleasure the hurrying clouds, and the fixed eternal stars. So stands the spirit of man in the unquiet world. The clouds of error vanish, and the pure light shines again | cisely on this account? Precisely because you in the heaven of humanity. Edla loved the stars. From her childhood she had held converse with them. In hours of trouble, in the moments of prayer, in those in which her soul yearned after communion with higher spirits, she had often seen the clouds divide, and the stars beam down upon her. This view had always wonderfully strengthened her. She attached no distinct thoughts to this stargreeting, but she felt it as the sympathy of a friend, as an invigorating glance from the eye of the Almighty. From the time that Edla had believed that she should find no friend on earth, she had accustomed herself to look for one in the stars, and had never felt her heart deceived. Besides they were so beautiful, so elevating! Their infinitude causes the Creator to appear so great-the actions and passions of men, so >small! CHAPTER XI. THE WOOING; AN OLD SONG TO A NEW TUNE. Professor A*** to Edla. are plain, Edla, do I love you the stronger. Were you handsome; had you only the most usual attraction of woman, then I should fear lest a less exalted feeling mingled itself in my love. But you are 'plain,' 'disagreeable,' and, therefore, do I love you, Edla; therefore do I love you warmly. There is a beauty which is not external, which gives no external testimony of itself. My love to this makes me believe in immortality! And because you are not beautiful, do you think that I cannot love? How womanish, miserable, silly, do you make me, when you believe that nothing else can enchant me than what things and beasts possess as well as human beings! "You are tedious;' God forgive you the untruth, Edla; as certainly as all our gossiping, empty nonsense gabbling women will do it. Believe me, Edla, there is more life in your silent presence than in the conversation of most men. But once more, seriously-have you actually intended what you said? Have you believed that I could admit it? No, Edla, you have not! You are not so weak, not so childish! You have deceived yourself and me. I suspect other reasons, of which you say nothing. And why do you not speak them sincerely out? You do not love me. You do not participate in the feelings which I cherish for you. Good! or rather bad! But you know my views on this subject. Women do not so necessarily need the love of the husband to whom they unite themselves. Esteem, confidence these are requisite to them; and the obligations of honor; the quiet of the house; the activity of the day, together with all higher familiar life, chain them at last with sincere affection to the friend they have chosen. This every day's experience teaches us. O Edla! why should you not in a similar manner become active and happy? Should you contemn the lot of a wife because you know more of the world than the majority of your sex? Then fling your wisdom into the sea! Listen, Edla! Had you a decided, productive talent; were you born to be an artist, or an author--I would not use so many words to persuade you to marry. But you are not that. You have an ear for life, but no tongue to express it. Can it give you joy only to vegetate, without being useful to a fellowcreature, without living for the happiness and good of another? Edla! take my hand; become my wife; the friend of my friends, the joy-diffuser of my house. Make happy a husband who henceforth will live only for you! "You will not partake my fortunes. Edla! you refuse my hand, and desire only the half of my heart! The other half you make a present of to some wife-whom I shall never find. Possess yourself of more impressive words and more effective arguments to make a man deny himself a happiness which he regards as the highest upon earth. Edla! you have permitted your friend to speak the unvarnished truth to you; yes, Edla! I have learned to love you for the sake of the love I cherish for my goddess, Truth: through my love of truth, I have alienated most of my so-called friends, frightened away all my acquaintances. You alone, Edla, feared not my rough sincerity; I did not offend you by it; you heard and understood me. You stand alone now as my best, my most sincere friend, the only one to whom I could without fear open my heart; and I acknowledge it as a happiness, that I can venture to say to you boldly, that you have not in your answer dealt truly and honestly by me. You answer me as an ordinary woman dismisses an ordinary man. Foolish reasons! petty considerations! how can Edla condescend to use them! You are old and ugly! Very well, Edla, I admit that you are an old maid. How old? Perhaps forty. Well, then, you are in the best years of a woman, which one may assert without being a fool, like Balsac. Don't talk to me, I beseech you, of your damsels "You doubt the truth of my love! Do you of seventeen. They are lovely flowers, I hear expect that I shall sigh, complain, fall at your you say. Very well! but I know not, in fact, feet? That I shall threaten to destroy myself, what I shall say to them any more than to a and enact one of those drunken scenes with pretty flower-that is, at most, 'You are ex- which the modern romances inundate the frivocessively charming" or perhaps-'Have you lous world? That I cannot do! Edla, and you danced much this winter? At forty a woman certainly do not desire it. But believe that I love has at once flowers and fruit. My mére made you. Judge of my attachment from rational my father happy in her forty-third year, and her evidences. Edla, I am not happy without your son had the happiness of his parent's society for presence. All that I do, think, write-that five-and-twenty years. One can with less than requires your sight, your approbation; without this be content. this it has no value for me! But I disdain to "You are plain;' yes, you are plain, uncom-dilate upon this, to vow, and protest-for fourmonly plain. I hardly know a countenance teen years Edla has called me friend, and has which at the first sight is so repellant. You have also something stiff, something disagreeable.' Yes, you have all that, I concede you that, Edla. Sincerely beloved Edla! Silly, childish, unphilosophical woman! understand you not, that one can love you with all this; yes, pre not doubted my word. Why should she doubt it in the very moment in which I open my heart to the core, and say, 'I love thee? Is this, however, only an empty subterfuge, behind which other reasons conceal themselves? Then it is probably, when translated into the language of "I honour the vocation of woman, as wife, mother, and mistress of a family, with my whole heart. Why should I not? I know nothing more beautiful. But I feel nothing in me which gives surety for me, that I myself should fulfil it. You speak of the uselessness of my life. I might bid you look at Nina. Till lately I might also have said, 'Behold the happy eye of my father!' But I will not appeal to things which have a universal claim on the outward activity of men. I might say, 'Oh, do not call it pride look into my heart!" There incessantly labours the desire to do good, not unworthy of the great Master whom we ought to follow. I sometimes think I shall be able to discover the word for that which works so deeply and honestly within me, on which I so seriously meditate; but perhaps I deceive myself-perhaps this moment will never come for me on earth. Be that, how truth, 'I fear to give thee my hand, because thou art an Atheist, because thou dost not believe in a God, in immortality; thou art a lost soul.' Can you believe that, Edla? Can you pronounce that in me to be a crime which does not lie in the power of our will? It is true, that my understanding does not acknowledge the doctrine out of which you and many others draw so much happiness. But show me the spot which dishonors me as a man; and then you will have a right to reproach me with the want of faith. Has a word, has a smile upon my lips, -ever derided that which to another is holy? Then, Edla, turn away from me as from an unworthy one. Have I ever, since I have become a man, spoken an untruth? Then, Edla, believe me no longer; then mistrust also my love. Yes, I will say still more. I have often indulged the hope of the possibility, that before the evening of my days descends, I may yet rec-ever, as it may, I do not therefore fear that I ognise a higher light, may yet participate in a faith so beautiful, and so full of blessings. I long, I yearn after it. I too am old, Edla; and my fiftieth year, though it has yet brought no cold into my heart, shows me by the snow falling on my temples that the winter is come. Edla, my dear friend! will you not bring me warmth in the cold season? not kindle that light which shall cheer my evening? If a human being can do this, it is thou, so gentle, and so sensible. "Another wife!' I beseech you, Edla, spare me this comfort, this hope, this other wife, who, if I understand you properly-shall be a good sheep. Be you mine, Edla? Let me hope it, or give me better, more solid grounds for a No, which opposes itself to my happiness. 66 Yours, Elda to Professor A * * * A." "The reasons which I advanced, my friend, were not false. I have spoken the truth, but perhaps I should have expressed it more clearly. My age, dear A., forbids me to think of a change in my present condition of life; but I alone am in a situation properly to estimate and to judge of this change. My plainness would not seem hazardous to me, could I but surmount the repugnance to exposing it to the gaze of men; and it is not simply the feeling of my plainness-that I could bear-but that hardness and repulsiveness of my disposition, which makes me for others unaccommodating and unpleasing. Even early in my childhood I felt this. The eye of my mother fell on me with a cold and repelling gaze, Forgive me, stern shade! hereafter I tried to advance toward thee with love, and thy glance will rest kindly on thy daughter. Then will all involuntary hardness dissolve, and my rigid disposition melt; then shall I also become amiable. But, here, on earth, that can never be; here there is, as it were, a strange power chained to me, which works disturbingly, turn which way I will. I am not agreeable to others, not agreeable with others, dear A. I feel that, and it constrains and embarrasses me in every action, in every sentiment-I cannot conquer it. "For you, dear A***, I feel the sincerest -esteem, the most genuine friendship; and nothing in your person could prevent me giving you my hand, if I were actually persuaded that I should thereby do anything good and proper. I have already written to you explicitly on this head, and will not now weary you with my repetitions. A few words, however, I must here add. work in vain. They are the HAPPY on earth, who live for the good of others; but they too have not lived in vain, who have laboured still and meditatively at the work of improvement in their own bosoms. Must every virtue, every power be a useless one, which does not exercise itself in the fulfilment of human duties? The life-long captive, cut off for ever from the world, builds a temple to God in his own heart; the anchorite, who places himself in a position through acquired knowledge to illuminate the world--believe you, my friend, that these live in vain? that they will not also one day find a theatre on which they may labour beneficially, if not in this, certainly in another world? know this is not your belief, but it is mine in the deepest regions of my heart. As regards the usefulness of my life, I am at rest. "You call upon me to give light to the evening of your days. Ah! there you touch a chord in my heart which vibrates painfully through it. Could I do, could I accomplish what you hope? I fear not. My friend, I know that I cannot! Have we not often exchanged our thoughts for this purpose? Have we not discussed these important matters repeatedly? And what fruit has this produced? I have contributed nothing to you, and you-parden me! I must say it-you have often wounded me deeply. Believe me, my good friend, it has never come into my mind to call you an Atheist, for your whole life testifies of the God in whom you believe, and who lives in you to use the words of a great poet'THE GOD WHOM YOU DENY AVENGES HIMSELF BY SETTING HIS STAMP ON YOUR ACTIONS.' In your works you are a good Christian; while your understanding, or the spirit of contradiction which dwells in your heart, refuses the acknowledgment. But this spirit and this incessant doubt disquiet my soul. Ah! life has so many darkening clouds, so many bewildering enigmas, that we cannot carefully enough guard our minds against every gloom. You have cast many a black doubt upon my days, how should I enlighten your evening? You require a wife of a different mind, with a higher strength of soul than I possess. "Do you not know, have you not seen the sweet simple wife whose whole being is love; in whose heart words discover themselves which desire not to be spoken, and which yet operate as an illumination? I might term such a one a feminine Apostle John; for she reposes on the bosom of her lord, and is admitted to his most intimate confidence. She draws from the origi CHAPTER XII. THE PIECE OF WORK. nal fountain of love, and thence is it that her | the ostensible occasion of her journey. The wisdom is so deep, her glance so full of blessing, President heard her in silence, and then said her words so persuasive. She has no arguments with a faltering voice," that she was probably for the immortality of the soul, but heaven stands in the right; that she was perfectly free to act open to her eye, and she has an immediate beam according to her own pleasure," and withdrew of God. To your doubts, to your questionings, hastily, leaving her alone with a troubled heart. such a wife would reply: 'Let us be happy! Let us love one another! Let us not vex ourselves with these matters! All will one day become clear, all will be good.' And this word, so poor, so trite, that every common-place person conceals his sluggishness behind it, becomes a revelation on the lips of a pious, affectionate feminine disciple. See, A***, this is the wife that you must seek. She alone can warm your heart, enlighten your evening; on her bosom will your soul find rest. Reasons cannot always be answered with counter-reasons; evidences with counter-evidences; before such a faith, such a conviction, your desire of contrast will become still, and you will yourself be made capable of listening to the suggestions of your own soul. "You speak of your love to me. Yes, I certainly hope that I am dear to you. This hope is dear, is necessary to me; but LOVE! LOVE TO ME! No, A***, that I cannot believe! I have alluded to your spirit of contradiction; forgive me if I revert to it, and regard it as the cause whence your liking for me has arisen. You were always proud and defiant, dear A***, and love to combat with difficulties. You now seek -me so zealously, because I retire before you-the consenting Edla would soon be no longer the warmly-beloved Edla. Talk not to me of your love, A***, I do not believe you; I do not believe in my own power to inspire such a feeling. I am become too old for fairy tales. Let me continue your friend as before; continue you what you were to me. It is thus best for us both. "Faithfully, and for ever your friend, "EDLA." Professor A✶✶✶ to Edla. "You were right, Edla, when you said beforehand that you should only repeat what you had said. Your letter contains only your former assertions, your empty reasons, or rather un-reasons. The only novelty which struck me was, 'The spirit of contradiction,' which is quartered in my brain, and gives itself the trouble to dictate to me my words and actions. The natural consequence of which is that I really do not know what I say, or what I protest. I thank you for this information. But as it lies sincerely at my heart to convince you of the contrary, and as I find in your letter no reasons besides what you had before assigned, allow me, best Edla, to take no notice of them, and by no means to give up the hope one day to call you my wife. You may greet most kindly from me the St. John ladies. None of them will ever be my wife! Edla or none ! THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION." Edla was at once vexed and flattered by the obstinacy of her friend, but only the faster, therefore, clung she to the thoughts of her departure. She knew, indeed, an amiable person who had long loved the Professor A***. She regarded her as wholly made for him, and cherished the hope that he would one day be convinced of her suitableness. From the distant bound of her journey she would write to her friend, of Charlotte D. She prepared all in silence for her exit, and then spoke with her father respecting it. The deranged affairs of her cousin S. were made The red flames stretch their tongues Up to heaven high. WALA'S Song. IN the mean time Miss Greta had her trial with Clara. She found her every day more interesting and intolerable. She became to her constantly more and more a stone of stumbling and of offence. One day occurred to her to prepare a joy for the joyless girl. She went out with the Countess to make purchases, and the whole forenoon they went from one shop to another, from Medberg to Folker, from Folker to Giron. The Countess returned home with numberless packages-with stuffs, shawls, and other fashionable articles. Miss Greta had selected two beautiful necklaces of amethyst and coral, that Clara might choose one of them. Her heart rejoiced beforehand in this surprise; she thought only at this moment of the forlorn position of the poor girl, and had forgotten all her indifference and tediousness. The Countess busied herself for three successive hours with her purchases. This was intended for Nina, that for Miss Greta, this for Edla, and the chief articles for herself. Not the slight est trifle was for Clara, that she might duly feel the disfavor in which she stood. But Clara seemed not to notice this punishment. After she had honestly pronounced her opinion of the fineness and color of the purchases, acquainted herself exactly with the price, and fulfilled all the duties of sympathy, she seated herself in silence and indifference by the fire, and to Miss Greta's wrath went on with her sewing. Miss Greta was but just come in. She took a chair, placed herself kindly by Clara, and showed her the two necklaces, with the question whether they were not pretty? A glance from Clara, with a feeble "yes," was all the answer which Miss Greta received. "And which seems to you the prettiest of the two ?" continued Miss Greta, without allowing herself to be amazed. "I scarcely know," replied Clara, with a voice which made one feel at the same time the trouble of the answer; "I understand so little about things of that sort." "Things of that sort!" repeated Miss Greta to herself, and was on the point of becoming angry; but the desire to give her pleasure triumphed, and she inquired farther: "Don't you think the coral one the handsomer; or would the amethyst probably suit better a darker complexion ?"" Probably," answered Clara in the most absent tone, while she sewed more diligently than ever on her tulle collar. That was too much for Miss Greta; at such a piece of rudeness all her gall was stirred. "That is a very pretty piece of work," said she, seizing on Clara's beloved piece of sewing; "but as it withholds you from what is much handsomer and of much more importancenamely, from mere politeness and a few minutes |