ucceeded. But, nevertheless, she was
somewhat lowered in her own esteem, and it was necessary that she
should acknowledge the truth to the friend whom she had consulted. A
day or two had passed before she found herself alone with Nora, but
when she did so she confessed her failure at once.

"You told him all, then?" said Nora.

"Oh yes, I told him all. That is, I could not really tell him. When
the moment came I had no words."

"And what did he say?"

"He had words enough. I never knew him to be eloquent before."

"He can speak out if he likes," said Nora.

"So I have found,--with a vengeance. Nobody was ever so put down as I
was. Don't you know that there are times when it does not seem to be
worth your while to put out your strength against an adversary? So it
was with him. He just told me that he was my master, and that I was
to do as he bade me."

"And what did you say?"

"I promised to be a good girl," said Caroline, "and not to pretend
to have any opinion of my own ever again. And so we kissed, and were
friends."

"I dare say there was a kiss, my dear."

"Of course there was;--and he held me in his arms, and comforted me,
and told me how to behave;--just as you would do a little girl. It's
all over now, of course; and if there be a mistake, it is his fault.
I feel that all responsibility is gone from myself, and that for all
the rest of my life I have to do just what he tells me."

"And what says the divine Wallachia?"

"Poor Wally! She says nothing, but she thinks that I am a castaway
and a recreant. I am a recreant, I know;--but yet I think that I was
right. I know I could not help myself."

"Of course you were right, my dear," said the sage Nora. "If you had
the notion in your head, it was wise to get rid of it; but I knew how
it would be when you spoke to him."

"You were not so weak when he came to you."

"That was altogether another thing. It was not arranged in heaven
that I was to become his captive."

After that Wallachia Petrie never again tried her influence on her
former friend, but admitted to herself that the evil was done, and
that it could not be remedied. According to her theory of life,
Caroline Spalding had been wrong, and weak,--had shewn herself to
be comfort-loving and luxuriously-minded, had looked to get her
happiness from soft effeminate pleasures rather than from rational
work and the useful, independent exercise of her own intelligence.
In the privacy of her little