t to
seek Miss Ainley. This lady was in narrower circumstances than Miss
Mann, and her dwelling was more humble. It was, however, if possible,
yet more exquisitely clean, though the decayed gentlewoman could not
afford to keep a servant, but waited on herself, and had only the
occasional assistance of a little girl who lived in a cottage near.

Not only was Miss Ainley poorer, but she was even plainer than the other
old maid. In her first youth she must have been ugly; now, at the age of
fifty, she was _very_ ugly. At first sight, all but peculiarly
well-disciplined minds were apt to turn from her with annoyance, to
conceive against her a prejudice, simply on the ground of her
unattractive look. Then she was prim in dress and manner; she looked,
spoke, and moved the complete old maid.

Her welcome to Caroline was formal, even in its kindness--for it was
kind; but Miss Helstone excused this. She knew something of the
benevolence of the heart which beat under that starched kerchief; all
the neighbourhood--at least all the female neighbourhood--knew something
of it. No one spoke against Miss Ainley except lively young gentlemen
and inconsiderate old ones, who declared her hideous.

Caroline was soon at home in that tiny parlour. A kind hand took from
her her shawl and bonnet, and installed her in the most comfortable seat
near the fire. The young and the antiquated woman were presently deep in
kindly conversation, and soon Caroline became aware of the power a most
serene, unselfish, and benignant mind could exercise over those to whom
it was developed. She talked never of herself, always of others. Their
faults she passed over. Her theme was their wants, which she sought to
supply; their sufferings, which she longed to alleviate. She was
religious, a professor of religion--what some would call "a saint;" and
she referred to religion often in sanctioned phrase--in phrase which
those who possess a perception of the ridiculous, without owning the
power of exactly testing and truly judging character, would certainly
have esteemed a proper subject for satire, a matter for mimicry and
laughter. They would have been hugely mistaken for their pains.
Sincerity is never ludicrous; it is always respectable. Whether
truth--be it religious or moral truth--speak eloquently and in
well-chosen language or not, its voice should be heard with reverence.
Let those who cannot nicely, and with certainty, discern the difference
between the t