She took an interest in the poor German master, for she was a benevolent
woman, and cheered his dying bed by promising to assist his daughter.
She even offered to take her into her family; but this could not be
thought of. Good aunt Agnes had left her country for the sake of
Emilie--Emilie would not desert her aunt now.

The scene at the supper table was not an uncommon one, but Emilie was
frequently more successful in winning aunt Agnes to a smile than on this
occasion. "Perhaps I tried too much; perhaps I did not try enough,
perhaps I tried in the wrong way," thought Emilie, as she received her
aunt's cold kiss, and took up her bed room candle to retire for the
night. When aunt Agnes said good night, it was so very distantly, so
very unkindly, that an angry demand for explanation almost rose to
Emilie's lips, and though she did not utter it, she said her good night
coldly and stiffly too, and thus they parted. But when Emilie opened the
Bible that night, her eye rested on the words, "Be ye kind one to
another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God for Christ's sake
hath forgiven you," then Emilie could not rest. She did not forgive her
aunt; she felt that she did not; but Emilie was _human_, and human
nature is proud. "I did nothing to offend her," reasoned pride, "it was
only because I was out a little late, and I said I was sorry and I tried
to bring her round. Ah well, it will all be right to-morrow; it is no
use to think of it now," and she prepared to kneel down to pray. Just
then her eye rested on her father's likeness; she remembered how he used
to say, when she was a child and lisped her little prayer at his knee,
"Emilie, have you any unkind thoughts to any one? Do you feel at peace
with all? for God says, 'When thou bringest thy gift before the altar,
and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee, leave
there thy gift before the altar, _first_ be reconciled to thy brother,
and _then_ go and offer thy gift.'" On one or two occasions had Emilie