me, I
readily pardoned what I looked upon as a matter of no great consequence.

"It proved to be, however, a matter of very great consequence. I had
been established in the new house and business four or five weeks, when
one evening, Benton being unusually ill, I asked Mr. Seabrook's advice
about him. My bed-room was up stairs, against the partition which
separated my apartments from those occupied by a family of Germans. I
chose that room for myself because it seemed less lonely, and safer for
me, to be where I could hear the voice of the little German woman, and
she could hear mine. In the same manner my kitchen joined on to hers,
and we could hear each other at our work. Benton being too ill to be
dressed, was lying on the bed in my room, and I asked Mr. Seabrook to go
up and look at him. He examined him and told me what to do, in his usual
decided and assured manner, and went back to the dining-room, which was
also my sitting-room. As soon as Benton was quieted, so that I could
leave him, I also returned to the lower part of the house to finish my
evening tasks.

"There is such a feeling of hatred arises in my heart when I recall that
part of my history that it makes me fear my own wickedness! Do you think
we can hate so much as to curse and blight our own natures?"

"Undoubtedly; but that would be a sort of frenzy, and would finally end
in madness. _You_ do not feel in that way. It is the over-mastering
sense of wrong suffered, for which there can be no redress. Terrible as
the feeling is, it must be free from the wickedness you impute to
yourself. Your nature is sound and sweet at the core--I feel sure of
that."

"Thank you. I have had many grave doubts about myself. But to go on.
Contrary to his usual habit, Mr. Seabrook remained at the house that
evening, and in the dining-room instead of his own room. I was so busy
with my work and anxious about Benton, that I did not give more than a
passing thought to him. He, also, seemed much pre-occupied.

"At last my work was done, and I took a light to go to my room, telling
Mr. Seabrook to put out the lights below stairs, as I should not be down
again. 'Stop a moment,' said he, 'I have something to tell you that you
ought to know.' He very politely placed a chair for me, which I took.
His manners were faultless in the matter of etiquette--and how very far
a fine manner goes, in our estimate of people! I had not the shadow of a
suspicion of what was coming. 'Mrs. Gr