ur heart and ask it to
reply."

She spoke so calmly, so soothingly, so rationally, the fever of
imagination subsided. I saw the triumph of reason and principle in her
own self-control,--for, when I was describing the scene, her mild eye
flashed, and her pale cheek colored with an unwonted depth of hue. She
had to struggle with her own emotions, that she might subdue mine.

"May I ask him to pardon Richard Clyde, mother?"

"The act would become your gratitude, but I fear it would avail nothing.
If he has required submission of him, he will hardly accept yours as a
substitute."

"Must I ask him to forgive me? Must I return?"

I hung breathlessly on her reply.

"Wait till morning, my daughter. We shall both feel differently then. I
would not have you yield to the dictates of passion, neither would I
have you forfeit your self-respect. I must not rashly counsel."

"I would not let her go back at all," exclaimed a firm, decided voice.
"They ain't fit to hold the water to wash her hands."

"Peggy," said my mother, rebukingly, "you forget yourself."

"I always try to do that," she replied, while she placed on the table my
customary supper of bread and milk.

"Yes, indeed you do," answered my mother, gratefully,--"kind and
faithful friend. But humility becometh my child better than pride."

Peggy looked hard at my mother, with a mixture of reverence, pity, and
admiration in her clear, honest eye, then taking a coarse towel, she
rubbed a large silver spoon, till it shone brighter and brighter, and
laid it by the side of my bowl. She had first spread a white napkin
under it, to give my simple repast an appearance of neatness and
gentility. The bowl itself was white, with a wreath of roses round the
rim, both inside and out. Those rosy garlands had been for years the
delight of my eyes. I always hailed the appearance of the glowing
leaves, when the milky fluid sunk below them, with a fresh appreciation
of their beauty. They gave an added relish to the Arcadian meal. They
fed my love of the beautiful and the pure. That large, bright silver
spoon,--I was never weary of admiring that also. It was massive--it was
grand--and whispered a tale of former grandeur. Indeed, though the
furniture of our cottage was of the simplest, plainest kind, there were
many things indicative of an earlier state of luxury and elegance. My
mother always used a golden thimble,--she had a toilet case inlaid with
pearl, and many little articles a