ry to sustain you in your
present position. From the tenor of your letter I should
judge that you entertained some fear that I might compromise
you with your future bride, and intimate that _my_ choice may
deprive you of _yours_. Surely that need not be. _She_ need not
even know of my existence. Do not entertain a fear that I,
or my future husband, will ever interfere with your happiness
by thrusting ourselves upon you, or endanger your social
position by proclaiming our relationship. Our paths lie so
widely apart that they need never cross. You walk on the
side of the oppressor--I, thank God, am with the oppressed.

"I am happy--more happy, I am sure, than you could
make me, even by surrounding me with the glittering lights
that shine upon your path, and which, alas! may one day go
suddenly out, and leave you wearily groping in the darkness.
I trust, dear brother, my words may not prove a prophecy;
yet, should they be, trust me, Clarence, you may come back
again, and a sister's heart will receive you none the less
warmly that you selfishly desired her to sacrifice the happiness
of a lifetime to you. I shall marry Charles Ellis. I ask
you to come and see us united--I shall not reproach you if
you do not; yet I shall feel strange without a single relative
to kiss or bless me in that most eventful hour of a woman's
life. God bless you, Clary! I trust your union may be as
happy as I anticipate my own will be--and, if it is not, it will
not be because it has lacked the earnest prayers of your
neglected but still loving sister."

"Esther, I thought I was too cold in that--tell me, do you think so?"

"No, dear, not at all; I think it a most affectionate reply to a cold,
selfish letter."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear you say that. I can trust better to your tenderness
of others' feelings than to my own heart. I felt strongly, Esther, and was
fearful that it might be too harsh or reproachful. I was anxious lest my
feelings should be too strikingly displayed; yet it was better to be
explicit--don't you think so?"

"Undoubtedly," answered Esther; and handing back the letter, she took up
baby, and seated herself in the rocking-chair.

Now baby had a prejudice against caps, inveterate and unconquerable; and
grandmamma, nurse, and Esther were compelled to bear the brunt of her
antipathies. We have before said that Esther's cap _looked_ as though it
felt itself in an inappropriate position--that it had got on the head of
the wro