e had heard her converse at times, when
her cheek glowed, and her eye kindled with enthusiasm. She had seen
her, very rarely, but still she had seen her, when _expression_ had
lit up her face with a positive beauty--when the soul, the life of
beauty beamed forth, and went to the heart with a thrill that
acknowledged its power. She knew that she would have been brilliant
and fascinating, if she had not been repressed; with all her faults,
there was a more feminine yieldingness about her, than about
herself. There was an affectionate pathos in her voice, a tender
grace in her air, when she asked to sympathize in her sorrow. Ann
felt for the first time fully, that she was one to love, and be
beloved in the social circle. She felt that she had been most
ungenerous to absorb all the attention of her friends, instead of
bringing forward the reserved, sensitive Christine. The sisters had
never been much together; they had never made confidants of each
other;--Ann was the eldest, and all in all with her parents, while
Christine was a sort of appendage. Ann felt the unintentional
reproach conveyed in her last words; she marked how quickly she
stopped, and seemed to retire within herself again; she scanned her
face closely, and generous feelings triumphed.

"Dear Christine!" she said in a low voice, passing her arm around
her. "We have never been to each other what sisters ought to be. I
have been too thoughtless and careless; I have not remembered as I
should have done, that you returned from school, a stranger to the
majority of our friends and acquaintances. You are so reserved, even
here at home; you never talk and laugh with father and mother as I
do."

"Do you know why I appear cold, Ann? I am not so by nature. They do
not seem to care when I speak, and I am not yet humble enough to
have what I say treated with perfect indifference."

"Why, Christine, you are too sensitive," said Ann, half impatiently.
"Be as noisy and lively as I am; entertain father, and say what will
please mother; then you will be as great a pet as I."

"Even if I should value love, based upon my powers of pleasing,
instead of the intrinsic worth of my character, I could not gain it,
Ann. I came home, after my long absence, as merry and light-hearted,
as full of hope, of love towards you all, as ever a happy schoolgirl
did. Then I was seventeen; it seems as if long years had elapsed
since the day I sprang into your arms so joyfully--since father an