es. But the great
beauty lay in its expression; that was so calm, holy, and serene, that I
felt insensibly better as I gazed upon it. It was a peculiar face; and I
became so wrapt in its contemplation as to lose all hearing of what
passed around, until a step sounded close beside me.

I looked up, and fairly trembled with terror and dismay. There stood
Mr. Eylton, gazing on me in surprise, as if quite at a loss what to make
of the circumstance; but as his eye fell upon the picture, I noticed
that an expression of sadness crossed his countenance. Not knowing what
to do with myself, and almost ready to sink through the floor with
shame, I stood with bowed head and burning cheeks, the very picture of
mortification. But there was no trace of anger in Mr. Eylton's tone, as,
kindly taking me by the hand, he drew me towards him and asked me my
name. I answered as well as I could; and still holding the picture,
remained in silent consternation. Mr. Eylton took it from my hand, and
sighed as he bent a deep, loving gaze upon the fair face.

Prompted by a sudden impulse, I raised my eyes to his, as I enquired:
"Can you tell me where that little girl is now? I should _so_ like to
see her!"

"In heaven, I trust," replied Mr. Eylton, while his voice slightly
faltered, and a tear stood in his eye. "She was my daughter, Amy--she
died some years ago, when very young."

I felt almost ready to cry myself, when told that she was dead, and
gazed lingeringly upon the portrait as Mr. Eylton closed the box; and
placing it in the drawer, he returned to me again.

"But, my dear child," said he suddenly, "Why did you open the drawer? Do
you not know that it was extremely improper?"

"I did _so_ want to see what was in it!" was my rejoinder.

Mr. Eylton seemed puzzled at first by this reply; but probably
perceiving that I had been too much left to myself, he proceeded to
explain, in clear and concise words, the nature and tendency of my
fault. "This curiosity, my dear child, is an improper state of feeling
which should not be indulged in. Suppose," continued he, "that on
looking into this drawer, you had perceived some article which you
immediately felt a great desire to possess; yielding to the temptation
of curiosity would thus lead to the sin of covetousness, and perhaps the
crime of theft might be also added. You would reason with yourself that
no one had seen you open the drawer, and forgetting the all-seeing Eye
which never slumbers,