For a moment the voice of the youthful moralist had failed her; but anxiety in behalf of her sister overcame her feelings, and she ended the sentence with earnestness.

“Emily,” said Jane, with obstinacy, and yet in tears, “you don’t know what blighted affections are.  To endure the scorn of the world, and see the man you once thought near being your husband married to another, who is showing herself in triumph before you, wherever you go!”

“Hear me, Jane, before you reproach me further, and then judge between us.”  Emily paused a moment to acquire nerve to proceed, and then related to her astonished sister the little history of her own disappointments.  She did not affect to conceal her attachment for Denbigh.  With glowing cheeks she acknowledged, that she found a necessity for all her efforts to keep her rebellious feelings yet in subjection; and as she recounted generally his conduct to Mrs. Fitzgerald, she concluded by saying, “But, Jane, I can see enough to call forth my gratitude; and although, with yourself, I feel at this moment as if my affections were sealed for ever, I wish to make no hasty resolutions, nor act in any manner as if I were unworthy of the lot Providence has assigned me.”

“Unworthy? no!—­you have no reasons for self-reproach.  If Mr. Denbigh has had the art to conceal his crimes from you, he did it to the rest of the world also, and has married a woman of rank and character.  But how differently are we situated!  Emily—­I—­I have no such consolation.”

“You have the consolation, my sister, of knowing there is an interest made for you where we all require it most, and it is there I endeavor to seek my support,” said Emily, in a low and humble tone.  “A review of our own errors takes away the keenness of our perception of the wrongs done us, and by placing us in charity with the rest of the world, disposes us to enjoy calmly the blessings within our reach.  Besides, Jane, we have parents whose happiness is locked up in that of their children, and we should—­we must overcome the feelings which disqualify us for our common duties, on their account.”

“Ah!” cried Jane, “how can I move about in the world, while I know the eyes of all are on me, in curiosity to discover how I bear my disappointments.  But you, Emily, are unsuspected.  It is easy for you to affect a gaiety you do not feel.”

“I neither affect nor feel any gaiety,” said her sister, mildly.  “But are there not the eyes of One on us, of infinitely more power to punish or reward than what may be found in the opinions of the world?  Have we no duties?  For what is our wealth, our knowledge, our time given us, but to improve for our own and for the eternal welfare of those around us?  Come then, my sister, we have both been deceived—­let us endeavor not to be culpable.”

“I wish, from my soul, we could leave Bath,” cried Jane.  “The place, the people are hateful to me!”

“Jane,” said Emily, “rather say you hate their vices, and wish for their amendment:  but do not indiscriminately condemn a whole community for the wrongs you have sustained from one of its members.”