"But you must not think, my dear," replied Mrs Herbert, "that it is God's will that we should live without affection. Why should He have bestowed such feelings upon us if they were not intended to be exercised? If we give the first place to Him, He will never forbid us to give the second to our fellow-creatures."
"I am afraid," said Emily, faintly. "I have thought before that I could give up all for Him, and yet when He required it I have shrunk from the sacrifice; and so it is now. I am not resigned as I ought to be; and I must never again put myself within reach of the temptation of loving an earthly being too well."
"You are speaking, my love, under the influence of an overstrained feeling," answered Mrs Herbert. "I know you would not change what has happened if the power were granted you at this instant; you would not bring back that sweet child to the sufferings of a sinful world, even if it were to give yourself years of happiness."
"No, no!" exclaimed Emily, eagerly. "I can and I do thank God that she is safe with Him—not in words only, but from the very bottom of my heart; and yet I may be afraid—it has always been so. Those whom I have loved the best have ever been taken from me the first."
"Only we may not presume to decide why," said Mrs Herbert. "It may have been for their good, quite as much as for your warning. And even now, if the loss of a darling child should be the means of bringing those whose happiness was wrapped up in her nearer to God, you would be the first to acknowledge the greatness of the blessing, and to see that the object of the trial might be principally their benefit. I do not mean to say," she added, observing that Emily continued silent, "that we are not all in danger of allowing our hearts to rest upon our earthly treasures; I am sure, indeed, it is one of our greatest temptations; but still we must not always think we have done so when they are taken from us; and, especially, we must not shut ourselves up in silent misery, and refuse the alleviations which God mercifully grants us."
"Perhaps," said Emily, "I could be more resigned, if I did not at times fancy that I had been the cause of everything. If I had never left her, many moments of self-reproach would be spared me. Not that I give way to the idea, because I believe it is false: I was doing what I knew to be my duty in going to the cottage; and the event was in the hands of God: but vet the notion haunts me; and even when I turn away from it, it still remains a load on my heart."
"And it will remain there, my dear, till the first misery of your feelings has worn off, and you can see things in a truer light. It is impossible to argue against it; or rather, no arguments which any person can use will entirely satisfy you; but you must, indeed, force yourself to turn away from it, or it will grow into a certainty, and then the whole energy of your mind will be destroyed. If we once allow ourselves to dwell too much upon the consequences even of our slightest actions, we shall be quite unfitted for the duties of life."
"Then you do not think I was wrong?" said Emily.
"No, indeed, I do not. You went on an errand of kindness, where your services were really required, and you left that dear child, as you believed, in a place of safety with those who were certainly quite old enough to have taken care of her during the few minutes of your absence. Consider what your feelings would have been if you had neglected to go to the cottage, and fatal consequences had been the result. You might have reproached yourself then, perhaps justly; but you can have no cause for it now. If any one has reason to be distressed, it is poor Margaret; and I am afraid she is suffering very much."
"Have you seen her?" asked Emily,