oof even what to us seems worthless and incongruous? so as to bear
our life safely and easily, to take pleasure in our task-work, and to
be happy, which we cannot else be, in the midst of affluence itself,
making others happy as far as we are able. Is not this too piety and
religion? I for my part have never met with them under any other
form."

"All this might be so," answered the old man breaking off the
discussion, "if the root of life sprang out of love."

"Does not every flower tell us so?" cried Edward, "every smile of a
child, the meek thankful eye of the sufferer whom we relieve, the
glance of the bride----"

He stopt short suddenly; for Rose's bright childly glance beamed at
these words with all its might through his soul. When he lookt up
again, he was greatly surprised to see his old friend's eyes wet with
tears.

"Edward," said he greatly moved, "you shall know all. Rose is no
adopted child; she is my own daughter, my own blood. Alas! this again
is another deplorable story of human weakness and vanity. While I was
living here alone, a young beautiful girl came as a maid-servant into
my house. Her parents were exceedingly poor, but she had been well and
religiously brought up. She was honest and virtuous. She was so fond
of solitude that, when she had done her work, she used to withdraw
from all society, especially from that of the young. In a very
singular manner she attacht herself to me; her devotion or love had
almost a superstitious character. She revered me, wretch as I am, like
a supernatural being. Never yet had my passions been moved by any
girl, and least of all were they so by her, beautiful as she was: I
was an old man, and fancied I loved her like a father, and thought of
looking out a husband for her. How it happened, I should not be able
to tell you; everything might seem so untrue. She became pregnant. I
had already long felt dismay at my own weakness and meanness. Shame,
despair, dread of the world, waged war within my soul, and made me
their recreant slave. I sent her away in my distress, provided for
her, richly, prodigally; but my heart was turned to stone. Grief,
sadness, doubts in herself and in God, bitter mortification that she
had forfeited my love, or was unworthy of it, while she burst into
fearful accusations against herself, as the most innocent are the
readiest to do, snapt the thread of her life. Had I seduced her? Did I
not really love her? No, a miserable seducer I was no