80 BE TRUE.

awful hour was a promise—to my
mind a promise more sacred than
words; thus was it to the dear sor-
rowing girl, to the dying mother, to
the angel who waited for the flut-
tering spirit, and, Laura, (who can
doubt?) by Him who weighs, not
only every word, but every thought
and act, in the unerring balances of
justice and truth.

“My dear cousin, I will not in-
crease your resentment by saying
more. You who know Ella so well,
are not so vain as to think that un-
der similar circumstances the same
fate would not be yours. With this
warming before you, if misery is
yours, it will not be an involuntary
choice. I have told you my heart,
dear Laura; if I must sacrifice your
friendship, let me at least have the