and once more, perplexed by desire and doubt, I appealed to the purer
judgment of my Anna.

"She wept when she came to the close of the epistle, and had not a word to
say.

"'I distress you, Anna,' said I, 'by my indecision. Dry your tears, my
beloved; I will hesitate no longer.'

"'I know not what to do,' she faltered; 'if you should act upon my advice,
and afterwards repent, you would never forgive me. Yet, I believe from my
very soul that you should flee from this temptation. But do as you
will--as seems wisest and best--and trust not to a weak woman. Do what
reason and principle direct, and happen what will--I will be satisfied.
One thing occurs to me. Can you trust your uncle?"

I hesitated.

"'I ask,' she continued, 'because you have often spoken of him as if you
could not confidently. May he not have--I judge of him only from your
report--some motive for his present conduct which we cannot penetrate? It
is an unkind world, and the innocent and guileless are not safe from the
schemes and contrivances of the wicked. I speak at random, but I am filled
with alarm for you. You are safe now--but one step may be your ruin.'

"'You are right, Anna,' I replied; 'it is too great a venture, I cannot
trust this man. I will not leave the path of duty. I will refuse his offer
this very night.'

"And I did so. In her presence I wrote an answer to his letter, and