But this paradise lasted only a fortnight, when the tempter came. This letter arrived from Priscilla:—
"Very Private.
"PAINTED POST, June 5.
"MY DEAREST PSYCHE,—Your sisters and I have had a very serious conversation about you and the life you are leading. You seem to be very happy; but have you thought, my dear Psyche, that you are dancing on the edge of a volcano? Have you asked no question as to the future? Are you so blinded as to forget that the wages of sin is death, and that the joys of this moment are as nothing compared with the terrors of eternity?
"Your sisters and I have spoken to dear papa about the life you lead. He has bidden me write to you just what I think, and your sisters also say it is my duty to do so. I write you, therefore—how sadly you know—to say that, as a Christian woman, you ought not to continue in this life. You should rise above it, and assert the freedom of a child of God. What is a dinner at Parker's if eaten with a guilty conscience? Better is a dinner of herbs where love is.
"I am sorry to write you a letter which seems severe. But you know, my dear child, that I am as a mother to you. And surely the counsels of a mother will be sweeter to you than the flatteries of any not so near as she.
"Always your loving sister,
"PRISCILLA."
"Counsels of a fiddlestick!" said Psyche; and she wrote this answer:—
"What in the world is the matter? I saw no dislike of Parker's dinners when you were here. I believe you are crazy.
"Always yours,
"PSYCHE."