“I agree with you in that feeling, but what is—is, and we must make the best of it. You must excuse your parents’ faults as much as you can, since your education will not permit you to be blind to them, and you must treat them with respect from a sense of duty.”

“That I have always done,” replied Caroline; “but it too often happens that I have to decide between the respect I would show to my parents, and a sense of justice or a love of truth opposed to it—that is the greatest difficulty.”

“Very true,” replied I, “and in such cases you must act according to the dictates of your own conscience.”

“Well,” replied Caroline, “I think I have done wisely in getting away altogether. I have seen little of my aunt Bathurst, since you took me to my father’s house; for, although some advances were made towards a reconciliation, as soon as my aunt was told that my father and mother had stated that I had been most improperly brought up by her, she was so angry at the false accusation, that all intercourse is broken off, I fear, for ever. Oh, how I have longed to be with my aunt again! But Valerie, I never heard why you left her. Some one did say that you had gone, but why was not known.”

“I went away, Caroline, because I was no longer of any use in the house after you had been removed, and I did not choose to be an incumbrance to your aunt. I preferred gaining my livelihood by my own exertions, as I am now doing, and to which resolution on my part, I am indebted for the pleasure of our again meeting.”

“Ah, Valerie, I never loved you so much as I did after I had lost you,” said Caroline.

“That is generally the case, my dear,” replied I; “but now if you please, we will try this sonata. We shall have plenty of time for talking, as we shall meet twice a week.”

Caroline played the sonata, and then dropping her fingers on the keys, said, “Now, Valerie, do you know what was one of my wild dreams which assisted in inducing me to come here? I’ll tell you. I know that I shall never find a husband at my father’s house. All well-bred people, if they once go there, do not go a second time, and, whatever may be the merits of the daughter, they have no time to find them out, and leave the house, with the supposition that she, having been educated in so bad a school, must be unworthy of notice. Now I mean, if I can, to elope from school, that is if I can find a gentleman to my fancy—not to Gretna Green but as soon as I am married, to go to my aunt Bathurst direct, and you know that once under a husband’s protection, my father and mother have no control over me. Will you assist my views, Valerie? It’s the only chance I have of happiness.”

“A very pretty confession for a young lady, not yet eighteen,” replied I; “and a very pretty question to put to me, who have been your governess, Caroline. I am afraid that you must not look to me for assistance, but consider it, as you termed it at first, a wild dream.”

“Nevertheless, dreams come true sometimes,” replied Caroline, laughing; “and all I require is birth and character: you know that I must have plenty of money.”