“And now, what shall I do, mother?” said Hesper, as she concluded.
“Let your own heart answer, dear child.”
“But its words are very uncertain. Advise me, dear mother! advise me!” she added, entreatingly.
“Hesper,” said her mother, as she placed her hand beneath her daughter’s chin, and looked her steadily in the eyes, “Do you think you love Harry more than as a brother.”
“I—I think I could if I tried,” stammered Hesper, with a very honest look.
“You do love him,” said her mother, “and therefore I say—use your love and influence as far as possible for his good, and trust God for the result. I cannot help dreading for you, my dear child, the experience which such association and relationship bring, but it is all for the best; for you would always be a child in heart and mind without it. Go on and take your woman’s lot as it comes, for there is a good God above, who ordereth all things well.”
“Mother! mother!” said Hesper, in a faltering tone, as she crept close to the bosom of her sympathising parent, “I am afraid of life and what lies before me, and wish I could die now. I cannot bear to think of going away from you and father, to live with one who may be unkind and neglectful towards me. I will write to Harry and tell him that I love him very much, but I fear that I can never marry him.”
“That is childish,” said her mother, “and you will know that it is, when you have had a wider experience. No, my dear child; take the cup of life just as God mingles it, thanking Him not only for the sweet but also for the bitter. Joy and sorrow is the common lot of all below, and those who drink most willing of the draught as it comes, are best prepared for a higher and holier life above.”