s; we were in the garden picking dahlias and roses;
I was just going up to dress for a very large dinner-party, and had rung
the bell for Simpson, when I woke up, and found myself in a log-hut,
with my eyes fixed upon the rafters and bark covering of the roof,
thousands of miles from Wexton Hall, and half an hour longer in bed than
a dairy-maid should be."

"I will confess, my dear Emma, that I passed much such a night; old
associations will rise up again when so forcibly brought to our
remembrance as they have been by Miss Paterson's letters, but I strove
all I could to banish them from my mind, and not indulge in useless
repining."

"Repine, I do not, Mary, at least, I hope not, but one can not well help
regretting; I can not help remembering, as Macduff says, that 'such
things were.'"

"He might well say so, Emma; for what had he lost? his wife and all his
children, ruthlessly murdered; but what have we lost in comparison?
nothing--a few luxuries. Have we not health and spirits? Have we not our
kind uncle and aunt, who have fostered us--our cousins so attached to
us? Had it not been for the kindness of our uncle and aunt, who have
brought us up as their own children, should we, poor orphans, have ever
been partakers of those luxuries which you now regret? Ought we not
rather to thank Heaven that circumstances have enabled us to show some
gratitude for benefits heaped upon us? How much greater are these
privations to my uncle and aunt now that they are so much more advanced
in years, and have been so much longer accustomed to competence and
ease; and shall we repine or even regret, unless it is on their account?
Surely, my dear Emma, not on our own."

"I feel the truth of all you say, Mary," replied Emma; "nay, all that
you have now said passed in my own mind, and I have argued to myself in
almost the same words, but I fear that I am not quite so much of a
philosopher as you are; and, acknowledging that what you say is correct,
I still have the same feeling--that is, I wish that I had not received
the letter from Miss Paterson."

"In that wish there can be no harm, for it is only wishing that you may
not be tempted to repine."

"Exactly, my dear Mary; I am a daughter of Eve," replied Emma, laughing,
and rising from her seat; "I will put away Miss Paterson's letter, and I
dare say in a day or two I shall have forgotten all about it. Dear
Alfred, how glad I am that he is promoted; I shall call him Lieutenant
Cam