“You never liked him, Anna,” said Mr. Weston; “why was it?”

“Arthur and Walter contrast so strongly,” answered Mrs. Weston.  “Arthur was always perfectly honest and straight-forward, even as a little child; though quiet in his way of showing it, he is so affectionate in his disposition.  Walter is passionate and fickle, condescending to those he loves, but treating with a proud indifference every one else.  I wonder he does not go abroad, he has the command of his fortune now, and here he can never be happily situated; no woman of delicacy would ever think of marrying him with that stain on his birth.”

“How beautiful his mother was, Cousin Janet!” said Mr. Weston.  “I have never seen more grace and refinement.  I often look at Walter, and recall her, with her beautiful brown hair and blue eyes.  How short her course was, too!  I think she died at eighteen.”

“Do tell me about her, uncle,” said Alice.

“Cousin Janet can, better than I, my darling.  Have you never told Alice her history, cousin?”

“No, it is almost too sad a tale for Alice’s ear, and there is something holy, in my mind, in the recollection of the sorrows of that young person.  I believe she was a wife, though an unacknowledged one.  If the grave would give up its secrets—­but it will, it will—­the time will come for justice to all, even to poor Ellen Haywood.

“That young creature was worse than an orphan, for her father, thriving in business at one time, became dissipated and reckless.  Ellen’s time was her own; and after her mother’s death her will was uncontrolled.  Her education was not good enough to give her a taste for self-improvement.  She had a fine mind, though, and the strictest sense of propriety and dignity.  Her remarkable beauty drew towards her the attention of the young men of her own class, as well as those of good family; but she was always prudent.  Poor girl! knowing she was motherless and friendless, I tried to win her regard; I asked her to come to the house, with some other young girls of the neighborhood, to study the Bible under my poor teachings; but she declined, and I afterwards went to see her, hoping to persuade her to come.  I found her pale and delicate, and much dispirited.  Thanking me most earnestly, she begged me to excuse her, saying she rarely went out, on account of her father’s habits, fearing something might occur during her absence from home.  I was surprised to find her so depressed, yet I do not remember ever to have seen any thing like guilt, in all the interviews with her, from that hour until her death.

“Ellen’s father died; but not before many had spoken lightly of his daughter.  Mr. Lee was constantly at the house; and what but Ellen’s beauty could take him there!  No one was without a prejudice against Mr. Lee, and I have often wondered that Ellen could have overlooked what every one knew, the treatment his wife had received.  You will think,” continued Cousin Janet, “that