“So this was the ‘Caroline’ who favored you with all those anonymous communications,” said Clemence to her friend when they were discussing the affair together.

“Yes, the very same,” sighed Mrs. Hardyng.  “She doubtless followed me at the instigation of Geoffrey Westbourne to spy upon my actions and report to him.  I do not know what his object could have been, unless he feared that I might seek to communicate with his present wife, who I feel convinced is not a party to his base transactions, and who believes him an injured saint.  Perhaps, too, he hoped to gain something against me from these gossips, or knowing that I was unaccustomed to poverty and isolation, believed that I might break through these self-imposed barriers and resort to crime.  But he should know me better.  It is no relief from misery to plunge into infamy, but only hurls the wretched victim into darker woes.  I know that I have been far from perfect, but the soul of Ulrica Hardyng is free from the stain of crime.  He whom she served faithfully and conscientiously ought to be the first to award the meed of praise, but in its place there is only the bitter brand of a life-long disgrace.”

“I don’t believe that even the best of men truly appreciate the value of a pure-minded woman,” said Clemence, thoughtfully.  “They are too gross and material, and I have met with very few whose society seemed to have a tendency to elevate.  In the company of the majority of men I feel a constraint and like uttering the most commonplace remarks.  Yet their idle curiosity leads them to seek to penetrate the very ’holy of holies’ (if I may be allowed the expression) of the soul, and which they can neither understand nor appreciate.”

“Oh, child!” said the elder woman, coming to her side; “my pure-browed darling, I pray God that you may never suffer misery like mine.  I had rather the child’s dream would be realized; that you might be permitted to follow him, though my lonely heart aches at the thought of losing you, than that you should be dragged down to a life for which you are not fitted.  Never marry, Clemence, for you are more likely to be wretched than happy.  I have so little faith in any man that I should fear for your future if you were to bestow your affections upon any one.  I mean to guard you well hereafter; and I am sure that there cannot be the least possibility of your ever having met one to appreciate or awaken a feeling of interest in your mind.”

The girl did not reply to this half-uttered query, but a faint rose-tint swept into the pale cheeks, and up to the blue-veined temples.

“But to be an old maid, Ulrica,” she said a moment after, in a troubled tone; “it is a dreary future for any woman to contemplate.  It used to be the one object of my ambition to devote my life to some good cause, thinking that thus I might rise above worldly cares, and grow nearer Heaven.  But of late my whole being shrinks from such a course.”