etter judgment," said her aunt;
"passion always leads us astray when we listen to its voice."

"That is very true," answered Louise; "but O that I had known it only by
precept, and not by experience!"

"Experience is called the best teacher," remarked the aunt.

"It is the most bitter one," returned Louise. "How I wish you had been
with me through the few brief years of my married life! With your kind
care and admonitions I think I would never have strayed darkly into sin
and error."

"We all err sometimes in our lives," said her aunt; "and I cannot
discover as you have wandered so far from the paths of rectitude that
your return to them should seem a thing impossible."

"But did I not tell you how I deceived my husband?" asked Louise,
looking wofully in the face of her aunt.

"Yes," returned she, calmly. "Did he never deceive you?"

Louise paused a few moments, and answered, "I _was_ deceived when I
married him, but it was by my own blindness. However, the deception did
not last long," she added, with a spice of her old spirit.

"And when it passed away," said her aunt.

"Don't recall those terrible hours to my mind," interrupted Louise,
quickly, "lest I should forget the double share of respect I owe the
dead in that I failed to give them their due on earth."

"I would not have the dead wronged," returned her aunt; "but I would
have the living righted. You used to be free and unrestrained in your
intercourse with me in the glad days of childhood and youth. I often
feared some envious sorrow would overtake you to chill and despoil that
buoyant exuberance of life and gayety. You were too wildly rich in heart
and soul. You wasted more love on a pet rabbit than would eke out the
whole passion life of a score of poorer natures. O, Louise, I trembled
when you stood before the altar and took the vows of faithfulness to Mr.
Leroy Edson. I knew you fancied that you loved him, and thought in the
wild potency of your passion to bear him skyward on your soaring
pinions; but, ah! I saw how sadly his clogging weight would drag you to
the earth."

She paused, and Louise was silent, but her face showed traces of tears.

"Do not think me severe," resumed her aunt; "I am only just. Now tell me
with your old-time confidence, why did you love another man while your
husband lived?"

"It was because,"---- Louise hesitated, and then added, "because I was
wicked."

"And for what other reason?" pursued her aunt.

"And becau