not answer. She only bowed her head upon
her lap.

"My dear Helen," said he, in that grave, earnest tone which always had
the effect of command, "raise your head and listen to me. I have wounded
my own feelings that I might give you a needed lesson, and prove to
yourself that you have moral courage sufficient to triumph over physical
and mental weakness. You have thought me cruel. Perhaps I have been
so--but I have given present pain for your future joy and good. I
followed you, though you knew it not, ready to ward off every real
danger from your path. Oh, Helen, I grieve for the sufferings
constitutional sensitiveness and inculcated fear occasion you, but I
rejoice when I see you struggling with yourself, and triumphing through
the strength of an exerted will."

"I deserve no credit for going," sobbed Helen. "I could not help it."

"But no one _forced_ you, Helen."

"When you say I _will_ do any thing, I feel a force acting upon me as
strong as iron."

"It is the force of your own inborn sense of right called into action by
me. You knew it was not right to leave our blind Alice in the dark
woods alone. If I were cruel enough to desert her, and refuse to seek
her, her claim on your kindness and care was not the less commanding.
You could not have laid your head upon your pillow, or commended
yourself to the guardianship of Providence, thinking of Alice in the
lonely woods, damp with the dews of night. Besides, you knew in your
secret heart I could not send you on a dangerous mission. Oh! Helen,
would that I could inspire you, not so much with implicit confidence in
me, as in that Mighty guardian power that is ever around and about you,
from whose presence you cannot flee, and in whose protection you are
forever safe."

"Forgive me," cried Helen, in a subdued, humble tone. "I have done you
great wrong in thinking you cruel. I wonder you have not given me up
long ago, when I am so weak and foolish and distrustful. I thought I was
growing brave and strong--but the very first trial proved that I am
still the same, and so it will ever be. Neither the example of Alice,
nor the counsels of your mother, nor your own efforts, do me any good. I
shall always be unworthy of your cares."

"Nay, Helen, you do yourself great injustice. You have shown a heroism
this very night in which you may glory. Though you have encountered no
real danger, you battled with an imaginary host, which no man could
number, and the victory was