At this dangerous instant for Cecilia, a party of her companions opened the door; she knew that they came as purchasers, and she dreaded her Flora's becoming the prize of some higher bidder.
"Here," said she, hastily putting the box into the pedlar's hand, without looking at it; "take it, and give me the Flora."
Her hand trembled, though she snatched it impatiently. She ran by, without seeming to mind any of her companions—she almost wished to turn back.
Let those who are tempted to do wrong by the hopes of future gratification, or the prospect of certain concealment and impunity, remember that, unless they are totally depraved, they bear in their own hearts a monitor who will prevent their enjoying what they have ill obtained.
In vain Cecilia ran to the rest of her companions, to display her present, in hopes that the applause of others would restore her own self-complacency; in vain she saw the Flora pass in due pomp from hand to hand, each vieing with the other in extolling the beauty of the gift and the generosity of the giver. Cecilia was still displeased with herself, with them, and even with their praise; from Louisa's gratitude, however, she yet expected much pleasure, and immediately she ran up stairs to her room.
In the mean time Leonora had gone into the hall to buy a bodkin; she had just broken hers. In giving her change, the pedlar took out of his pocket, with some half-pence, the very box which Cecilia had sold him. Leonora did not in the least suspect the truth, for her mind was above suspicion; and besides, she had the utmost confidence in Cecilia.
"I should like to have that box," said she, "for it is like one of which I was very fond."
The pedlar named the price, and Leonora took the box; she intended to give it to little Louisa.
On going to her room she found her asleep, and she sat down softly by her bed-side. Louisa opened her eyes.
"I hope I didn't disturb you," said Leonora.