the light and frivolous, and to fit herself for intercourse with them,
read the books they read, until others became insipid.

Edward Allston was proud of his sister, and loved her, too, almost to
idolatry.

They had scarcely been separated from childhood, and it was a severe
blow to him when she shunned the amusements they had so long shared
together. He admired indeed the excellency of her second life, the
beauty of her aspirations, the loftiness of her aims, but he felt
deeply the want of that unity in hope and purpose which had existed
between them. He felt, at times, indignant, as if something had been
taken from himself. Therefore, he strove by many a device to lure her
into the path he was treading. He was very selfish in this, but he was
unconscious of it. He would have climbed precipices, traversed
continents, braved the ocean in its wrath, to have rescued her from
physical danger, but, like many others, thoughtless as himself, he did
not dream of the fearful importance of the result; did not know that
the Infinite alone could compute the hazard of the tempted one. Thus
far had he succeeded, that she had consented to attend with him a
brilliant ball.

"It will be a superb affair," he said, half aloud, as he walked down
the street. "The music will be divine, too. And she used to be so fond
of dancing! 'T was a lovely girl spoiled, when the black-coated gentry
preached her into their notions. And yet--and yet--pshaw!--all
cant!--all cant! What harm can there be in it? And if she does
withstand all this, I will yield the point that there is
something--yes, a great deal in her religion."