"I wish," continued Cornelia, "that my sister could have pitied, without loving him." "But is it not natural to love what we pity?"
"Not always," replied she; "we must admire, to love."
"And may we not admire what we pity?" inquired Louis, the secret of whose heart was prompting these questions.
"In some cases," returned Cornelia; "but surely not in Alice's, when she first knew Don Ferdinand. She saw by his manner, that he was a man whose conscience was ill at ease; and how she could fix her pure affections on one his father acknowledged to have been very blame-worthy, has ever been an inexplicable wonder to me."
"But his melancholy was contrition for his offences, Cornelia," replied her cousin; "and Alice, admiring the principle, on your own argument, loved him."
"It may be so!" replied she, with a smile. "But were I to chuse, it should be an unsullied tablet!"
Louis shook his head. "Then, my sweet cousin, you must go to heaven for it!"
Cornelia shook her head in return.
"You are an amiable sceptic, my Cornelia; and, Heaven grant that time may not be the teacher to you, that it has been to me!"
"Louis," answered she, with a tender seriousness; "will you not be offended if I make a candid reply to that invocation?"