Look, utterance, act, hath more of evil in 't
Than e'er she dreamed of or could understand,
And she must blush before them, with a heart
Whose lightest throb is worth their all of life!"

In a neat, but scantily furnished apartment of a small, white cottage
sat Louise Edson beside the low window which looked forth on a great
frowning building with grated bars and ponderous iron doors.

"Is this a prison across the yard, aunt?" she asked of a tall, solemn
woman, in a black head-dress, who had just entered the room, and stood
laying some fresh fuel on the fire.

"It is the county jail," replied she.

"How it makes me shudder to look at it!" said Louise, turning from the
window, and assuming a chair near her aunt, who was taking a quantity of
sewing from a work-basket.

"It reminds me of a lady who was my near neighbor in Wimbledon, and who
has been my sole companion for several months, to see you constantly
occupied with your needle," remarked Louise, looking on her aunt as she
assorted her cotton and arranged her work.

"What is the lady's name, of whom you speak?" inquired the woman.

"Mrs. Stanhope," answered Louise; "she is a kind soul. It pains me to
think I shall never see her again."

"Do you not intend to return to your late home?" inquired the aunt,
somewhat surprised at the words of her niece.

"Never!" returned Louise, with strong emphasis, "I could not endure it."

"Pshaw! you will get over this weakness in a little while," said her
aunt. "You have half-conquered it by coming away, and you will complete
the victory by returning."

"I tell you no," said Louise, somewhat angered by her aunt's
persistence. "I have already written to Mr. Richard Giblet, one of the
former firm of Edson & Co., to settle my affairs in Wimbledon, dispose
of my late residence, and remit the proceeds to me in drafts."

The aunt looked astonished at this piece of intelligence, and said, "You
have been rash and premature, my child, and I fear will regret your
hasty proceedings."

"If you knew how much it relieved me to get out of that place, aunt, you
would not fear I should ever wish to return. I was so near my enslaver
there, and my heart said all the time, 'O, I _must_ see him!' while
conscience whispered sternly, 'You _dare_ not do it.' There was a
constant war 'twixt love and reason, which threatened the extermination
of the latter."

"I am glad you have been ruled by your b