, how they stray! On what
forbidden grounds do they intrude, down what dread declivities are they
hurled!

Caroline, having been convoyed home by Robert, had no wish to pass what
remained of the evening with her uncle. The room in which he sat was
very sacred ground to her; she seldom intruded on it; and to-night she
kept aloof till the bell rang for prayers. Part of the evening church
service was the form of worship observed in Mr. Helstone's household. He
read it in his usual nasal voice, clear, loud, and monotonous. The rite
over, his niece, according to her wont, stepped up to him.

"Good-night, uncle."

"Hey! You've been gadding abroad all day--visiting, dining out, and what
not!"

"Only at the cottage."

"And have you learned your lessons?"

"Yes."

"And made a shirt?"

"Only part of one."

"Well, that will do. Stick to the needle, learn shirt-making and
gown-making and piecrust-making, and you'll be a clever woman some day.
Go to bed now. I'm busy with a pamphlet here."

Presently the niece was enclosed in her small bedroom, the door bolted,
her white dressing-gown assumed, her long hair loosened and falling
thick, soft, and wavy to her waist; and as, resting from the task of
combing it out, she leaned her check on her hand and fixed her eyes on
the carpet, before her rose, and close around her drew, the visions we
see at eighteen years.

Her thoughts were speaking with her, speaking pleasantly, as it seemed,
for she smiled as she listened. She looked pretty meditating thus; but a
brighter thing than she was in that apartment--the spirit of youthful
Hope. According to this flattering prophet, she was to know
disappointment, to feel chill no more; she had entered on the dawn of a
summer day--no false dawn, but the true spring of morning--and her sun
would quickly rise. Impossible for her now to suspect that she was the
sport of delusion; her expectations seemed warranted, the foundation on
which they rested appeared solid.

"When people love, the next step is they marry," was her argument. "Now,
I love Robert, and I feel sure that Robert loves me. I have thought so
many a time before; to-day I _felt_ it. When I looked up at him after
repeating Chenier's poem, his eyes (what handsome eyes he has!) sent the
truth through my heart. Sometimes I am afraid to speak to him, lest I
should be too frank, lest I should seem forward--for I have more than
once regretted bitterly overflowing, superfluous words,