of feeling. But her face was pale,
and sad to look upon, even in her sleep.

When Ann returned home, at a late hour, she glanced hastily at the
bed, to see if she had retired, and was sleeping. More than once
during the evening her heart had reproached her for the part she had
acted. With a noiseless step she approached Christine, and bent over
her. The tear-drop upon her pale cheek, revealed the unconscious
girl to her in a new character. How her conscience smote her, for
the grief upon that countenance, now so subdued by the spirit of
sleep! Its meek sadness and tenderness stirred in her bosom feelings
she had seldom experienced. She felt and understood better than ever
before, her sister's proud reserve with herself, as well as every
one else. She kissed away the tear, and knelt at the bedside in
prayer, a thing she had not done for years. A flood of tender and
self-reproachful feelings came over her; the spring was touched, and
she wept aloud. Christine started up, and murmured a few broken
sentences, before she was fully conscious of the meaning of the
scene.

"What is the matter, Ann, are you crying?" she at length asked, as
her sister lifted up her face. Ann arose from her knees; she
hesitated, she felt as if she could throw herself into Christine's
arms, and weep freely as she asked forgiveness for her conduct. She
felt that she would be affectionately pardoned. And yet she stood
silent; her heart brimming with tenderness all the while--something
held her back; a something that too often chills a pure impulse, a
gush of holy feeling. It was pride. She could not bring herself to
speak words of penitence and humility. But she did not turn away
from the anxious gaze riveted upon her; she drooped her eyes, and
the tears rolled slowly down her face.

"Oh, Ann, dear Ann, this does not seem like you!" said Christine,
tenderly approaching her. "I am your sister; if you have any sorrow,
why may I not sympathize with you? How can _you_ be sorrowful? you
never meet with neglect, and--" the young girl paused hastily, with
a suddenly flushed face; she had inadvertently betrayed what she had
previously so carefully concealed under the mask of callous
indifference--she had shown that she felt keenly her own position,
and that of her sister as a favourite. Ann was proud of her
intellect and fascinating beauty; she was selfishly fond of
admiration. She knew that her sister was really as gifted as
herself, if not more so; sh