How heavenly is the love of a sister towards a brother! Clara was now everything to me. Having said thus much to me on the subject of my fault (and it must be confessed that she had not been niggardly in the article of words), she never named the subject again, but sought by every means in her power to amuse and to comfort me. She listened to my exculpation; she admitted that our meeting at Bordeaux was as unpremeditated as it was unfortunate; she condemned the imprudence of our travelling together, and still more the choice of a residence for Eugenia and her son.
Clara's affectionate attention and kind efforts were unavailing. I told her so, and that all hopes of happiness for me in this world were gone for ever.
"My dear, dear brother," said the affectionate girl, "answer me one question. Did you ever pray?"
My answer will pretty well explain to the reader the sort of religion mine was:—
"Why, Clara," said I, "to tell you the truth, though I may not exactly pray, as you call it, yet words are nothing. I feel grateful to the Almighty for his favours when he bestows them on me; and I believe a grateful heart is all he requires."
"Then, brother, how do you feel when he afflicts you?"
"That I have nothing to thank him for," answered I.
"Then, my dear Frank, that is not religion."
"May be so," said I; "but I am in no humour to feel otherwise, at present, so pray drop the subject."
She burst into tears. "This," said she, "is worse than all. Shall we receive good from the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil?"