was asked as Rebecca was asked--'Wilt
thou go with this man?' and she said 'I will go.' I told her
it was her duty to marry Mr. Lovell, and she married him; and
if you should say, Mrs. Middleton, that it was not her duty to
marry him, and that I deceived her as well as you,--again I
say, 'Judge not, condemn not;' and thus you may escape a
fearful judgment--an awful condemnation."

"Is not that letter the very height of cant and impertinence?"
said my aunt, as I laid it down on the table.

"It is a strange letter," I answered; "but what she says of
Alice I am certain must be true. It tallies exactly with the
impression she made upon me, and with what I should have
supposed her part to have been in the whole affair."

"But how can her grandmother justify her own conduct to
herself, if it is so?"

"God only knows," I answered; "but if you love me, my dearest
aunt,--if you wish me to be happy,--if my supplications have
any weight with you..."

"_If_ they have, Ellen?"

"No, no!" I exclaimed,--"not _if_--I will not say _if_ they
have, for I _know_ they have. I know you love me, and I know
that you will do all you can to make Henry happy with Alice. I
shall not have a moment's peace if they are not happy."

"Angel!" said my aunt, as she pressed her lips to my cheek. I
drew back with a thrill of horror.

"Never call me an angel,--never say that again: I cannot bear
it. I am not disclaiming,--I am not humble,--I am only
cowardly. I cannot explain to you everything; indeed, I hardly
know if I understand myself, or Henry, or anything; but thus
much I do know, that if Alice Tracy has gained his
regard--wildly as he talks in that strange letter--if she has
a hold on his affections, I shall bless her every day of my
life,--she will have saved me from inexpressible misery. Oh,
my dearest dear aunt,--write to Henry, write to Alice
to-day,--immediately: do not wait for my uncle's
permission--write at once."

I seized on the inkstand, and putting paper and pen before
her, I stood by in anxious expectation. She sighed heavily,
and then said to me:--

"Ellen, will you never again speak openly to me? If you did
not care about Henry, what has made you so wretched lately?
Why are your spirits broken?--why is your cheek pale and your
step heavy? You deceive yourself, my child; you love Henry,
and it is only excitement that at this moment gives you false
strength."

"Whether I ever have loved Henry," I replied, "is a myst