“But, Louisa, you must remember that there are exceptions to every general rule; and also, that the same act may be good or bad, according to the end which the actor has in view.  If I had proposed to myself any mere sinister and selfish end in remaining in the house of my friend after such an unkind and to me, at the time, cruel repulse, I should have acted wrong; but my end was to benefit my friend—­to disabuse her of a most painful mistake, which I could only do by meeting her, and letting her ears take in the tones of my voice, that she might thus judge of my sincerity.”

Louisa did not reply, and Mrs. Appleton continued,—­

“‘Tell Mrs.——­,’ said I to the servant, ’that I am very anxious to see her, and that she must not refuse me an interview.’  In a few minutes she returned with the positive refusal of Mrs.——­to see me.  There was one thing that I did not want to do—­one thing that I hesitated to do, and that was to force myself upon my estranged friend by intruding upon her, even in her own chamber, where she had retired to be secure from my importunity.  But I looked to the end I had in view.  ‘Is not the end a good one?’ I said, as I mused over the unpleasant position in which I found myself.  ’Will not even Mrs.——­thank me for the act after she shall have perceived her error?’ Thus I argued with myself, and finally made up my mind that I would compel an interview by entering my friend’s chamber, even though she had twice refused to see me.

“As I resolved to do, so I acted.  Once fully convinced that the act was right, I compelled myself to do it, without once hesitating or looking back.  My low knock at her chamber-door was unanswered.  I paused but a few moments before opening it.  There stood my friend, with a pale yet firm countenance, and as I advanced she looked me steadily in the face with a cold, repulsive expression.

“‘Mrs.——­,’ said I, extending my hand and forcing a smile, while the tears came to my eyes, and my voice trembled—­’if I had been guilty of the feelings with which you have charged me, I would not have thus sought you, in spite of all your repulses.  Let me now declare to you, in the earnestness of a sincere heart, that I am innocent of all you allege against me.  I have always regarded you as one of my choicest friends.  I have always endeavoured to prefer you before myself, instead of setting myself above you.  You have, therefore, accused me wrongfully, but I do most heartily forgive you.  Will you not then forgive me for an imaginary fault?’

“For a few moments after I commenced speaking, she continued to look at me with the same cold, repulsive stare, not deigning to touch the hand that I still extended.  But she saw that I was sincere; she felt that I was sincere, and this melted her down.  As I ceased speaking, she started forward with a quick, convulsed movement, and throwing her arms around me, hid her face in my bosom and wept aloud.  It was some time before the tumult of her feelings subsided.