Laura ceased, and her aunt, who was, she now perceived, much
agitated, arose and left the room without speaking. The reason of
this to Laura was altogether unaccountable. Her aunt Cleaveland,
always so mild, so calm, to be thus strongly disturbed! What could
it mean? What could there be in her maidenly fears to excite the
feelings of one so good, and wise, and gentle? An hour afterwards,
and while she yet sat, sober and perplexed in mind, in the same
place where Mrs. Cleaveland had left her, a domestic came in and
said that her aunt wished to see her in her own room. Laura attended
her immediately. She found her calm and self-possessed, but paler
than usual. "Sit down beside me, dear," Mrs. Cleaveland said,
smiling faintly, as her niece came in.

"What you said this morning, Laura," she began, after a few moments,
"recalled my own early years so vividly, that I could not keep down
emotions I had deemed long since powerless. The cause of those
emotions it is now, I clearly see, my duty to reveal--that is, to
you. For years I have carefully avoided permitting my mind to go
back to the past, in vain musings over scenes that bring no pleasant
thoughts, no glad feelings. I have, rather, looked into the future
with a steady hope, a calm reliance. But, for your sake, I will draw
aside the veil. May the relation I am now about to give you have the
effect I desire! Then shall I not suffer in vain. How vividly, at
this moment, do I remember the joyful feelings that pervaded my
bosom, when, like you, a maiden, I looked forward to my wedding-day.
Mr. Cleaveland was a man, in many respects, like Henry Armour.
Proud, firm, yet gentle and amiable when not opposed;--a man with
whom I might have been supremely happy;--a man whose faults I might
have corrected--not by open opposition to them--not by seeming to