"That I will try and not judge Ellen so harshly again," was her instant reply; "you have every right to desire it, my dear friend, not to ask it as a favor; I was too prejudiced and too hasty; but your own dear children are so truthful, so open, that I fear they have quite spoiled me for the necessary patience and forbearance with others."
"You have not quite guessed it, Lucy. Appearances were so very strongly against that poor child, that I am not at all astonished you should have disbelieved her assertion. In the moment of irritation, it is not unlikely I should have done so myself; but the favor I am going to ask you, is merely that you will try and never show that you doubt her word, or refer to her past failures. I am quite convinced that untruth is not Ellen's natural disposition, but that it has been caused by the same circumstances which have made her such a painfully timid, too humble character. If, with all her efforts to conquer herself, she still finds her word doubted, and the past brought forward, she never will be able to succeed. Examine as strictly and carefully as you please, and as I am sure she will desire, if necessary—as she did to-day—but oblige me, and never doubt her. If she finds we never do, it will raise her self-esteem, and give her a still further incentive to adhere as strictly to the truth, as she sees we believe she does. I am certain the habit of falsehood has often been strengthened by the injudicious and cruel references to one or two childish failures. If I am never to be believed, what is the use of trying to tell the truth? is the very natural question; and the present pain of carefulness being greater than the visible amount of evil, the habit is confirmed. Will you oblige me?"
"Of course I will, dearest Mrs. Hamilton; how can you talk so! Have you not a right to desire what you think proper, in my guidance of your children, instead of so appealing to me as an equal?"
"And are you not? My dear Lucy, have I ever, in act or word, considered you otherwise? In the very intrusting my children to your care, do I not prove that I must think you so? Have you lived with me all these years, and not yet discovered that I have some few notions peculiar perhaps to myself, but that one among them is, that we can never consider too much, or be too grateful to those invaluable friends who help us in the training of our children?"
"I have lived long enough with you to know that there never was, never can be, any woman like you, either as wife, mother, mistress, or friend!" exclaimed Miss Harcourt, with most unusual fervor.
"You did not know your own mother, dearest Lucy, as how I wish you had, or you would not think so. Every firm, truthful, estimable quality I may possess, under God's blessing, I owe to her. As a young child, before she came to me, and some years afterward, I was more like Ellen than either of my own darlings; and that perhaps explains the secret of my love for, and forbearance with her."
"Like Ellen!" repeated Miss Harcourt, much surprised; "forgive me, but, indeed, I can scarcely believe it."
"It is truth, notwithstanding; my poor father's great preference for Eleanor, when we were children, her very superior beauty and quickness, threw me back into myself; and I am quite certain if it had not been for your excellent mother, who came to live with us when I was only seven, my character would have suffered as much from neglect on the one side, and too painful humility on my own, as Ellen's has done. I can understand her feelings of loneliness, misappreciation, shrinking into herself, better even than she does herself."
"But your affection and kindness ought to have altered her character by this time."
"Hardly—eighteen months is not long enough to remove the painful impressions and influences of eleven sorrowful years. Besides, I scarcely know all these influences; I fear sometimes that she has endured more than I am aware of. So you must think charitably of my fancy, dearest Lucy," she added, smiling, "and help me to make Ellen as much like me as a woman, as I believe she is to me as a child; and to do so, try and think a little, a very little, more kindly and hopefully of her than you do."