"I can neither deny nor assert, Mr. Copeland. I have imagined many dreadful things, which may have no real existence. You may judge for yourself."
His brow was lighter, when he had heard her unvarnished relation.
"I thank you!" said he, heartily. "We may cicatrize this wound yet. I will see Helen to-night; she expects a reproof; and if she is not what she appears,—refined steel—I will make her feel. I dare not meet Ashlin—but I will write—and if he crosses my path again—." He resumed in a milder tone, "I would crave one more proof of your good-will, but that I fear a refusal."
"Ask it."
"If he renews his visits, will you inform me?"
"No, sir!" said Ida, positively. "The service savors too much of espionage."
"I was afraid you would see it in that light. Miss Read," he continued, scornfully, "would require no persuasion to play the spy. I was near committing myself last night. His name was a galvanic shock."
"I cannot but hope," said Ida, "that our fears have magnified shadows into spectres. We are so prone to shape events after the fashion of our inclinations or forebodings. Do not consider it an impertinent liberty, Mr. Copeland, if I recommend to you to be very gentle in your reprehension of your sister. Callous, self-dependent in semblance, think what her sufferings are, empaled by memory and conscience. Oh! if we had more charity for the tempted!"
"Temptation, sin, suffering! how naturally the words succeed each other!" mused Richard.
"And they are an epitome of all human woe," said Ida "It is a doctrine of mine, that a small proportion of the great aggregate of crime is committed from actual love of sin."