ng in any point of
duty, or querulously seeking the support in others which she can find
for herself in this solitary room. Droop she will not in the sight of
men; and, for all beyond, nobody has any concern with _that_ except God.
You shall hear what becomes of her, before we take our departure; but
now let me tell you what has happened. In the main outline I am sure you
guess already without aid of mine, for we leaden-eyed men, in such
cases, see nothing by comparison with you our quick-witted sisters. That
haughty-looking lady with the Roman cast of features, who must once have
been strikingly handsome--an Agrippina, even yet, in a favourable
presentation--is the younger lady's aunt. She, it is rumoured, once
sustained, in her younger days, some injury of that same cruel nature
which has this day assailed her niece, and ever since she has worn an
air of disdain, not altogether unsupported by real dignity, towards men.
This aunt it was that tore the letter which lies upon the floor. It
deserved to be torn; and yet she that had the best right to do so would
_not_ have torn it. That letter was an elaborate attempt on the part of
an accomplished young man to release himself from sacred engagements.
What need was there to argue the case of _such_ engagements? Could it
have been requisite with pure female dignity to plead any thing, or do
more than _look_ an indisposition to fulfil them? The aunt is now moving
towards the door, which I am glad to see; and she is followed by that
pale timid girl of sixteen, a cousin, who feels the case profoundly, but
is too young and shy to offer an intellectual sympathy.

One only person in this world there is, who _could_ to-night have been a
supporting friend to our young sufferer, and _that_ is her dear loving
twin-sister, that for eighteen years read and wrote, thought and sang,
slept and breathed, with the dividing-door open for ever between their
bedrooms, and never once a separation between their hearts; but she is
in a far distant land. Who else is there at her call? Except God,
nobody. Her aunt had somewhat sternly admonished her, though still with
a relenting in her eye as she glanced aside at the expression in her
niece's face, that she must "call pride to her assistance." Ay, true;
but pride, though a strong ally in public, is apt in private to turn as
treacherous as the worst of those against whom she is invoked. How could
it be dreamed by a person of sense, that a brilliant y