ur pillow will never be moistened
with tears of remorse. If affliction and trial come--they will come as the
chastening of your Father, who will give you strength to bear the load you
have not cast upon yourself. But once diverge from the straight and narrow
path, and who can see the end of difficulty and danger? You are unused to
business, you know nothing of its forms, its ways--you are not fit for it.
Your habits--your temperament are opposed to it, and you cannot enter the
field as you should--to prosper. Think not of me. I wish--my happiness,
and joy, and pride will be to see you a respected minister of God. I am
not impatient. If we do right, our reward will come at last. Let years
intervene, and my love for you will burn as steadily as now. Do not be
tempted--and do not let us think that good can result--if, for my sake,
you are unfaithful--_there_!' She pointed upwards as she spoke, and for a
moment the sinfulness of my wishes blazed before me--startled, and
silenced me. I resolved to decline my uncle's offer; yet a week elapsed,
and the letter was not written. But another came from _him_. It was one of
tender reproach for my long silence, and it requested an immediate answer
to the munificent proposal of my mother. If I refused it, a stranger would
be called upon to enjoy my rights, and the opportunity for realizing a
handsome fortune would never occur again. Such were its exciting terms,
and once more, perplexed by desire and doubt, I appealed to the purer
judgment of my Anna.

"She wept when she came to the close of the epistle, and had not a word to
say.

"'I distress you, Anna,' said I, 'by my indecision. Dry your tears, my
beloved; I will hesitate no longer.'

"'I know not what to do,' she faltered; 'if you should act upon my advice,
and afterwards repent, you would never forgive me. Yet, I believe from my
very soul that you should flee from this temptation. But do as you
will--as seems wisest and best--and trust not to a weak woman. Do what
reason and principle direct, and happen what will--I will be satisfied.
One thing occurs to me. Can you trust your uncle?"

I hesitated.

"'I ask,' she continued, 'because you have often spoken of him as if you
could not confidently. May he not have--I judge of him only from your
report--some motive for his present conduct which we cannot penetrate? It
is an unkind world, and the innocent and guileless are not safe from the
schemes and contrivances of the wicked.