“To what you just said,” blushing deeply as she spoke; “I only wish to remind you, that even Mr. Huyton may not have all the advantages of life within his reach; and there may be grievances to be endured even by him, of which we know nothing.”
“True. I acknowledge we are more ready to reckon our
troubles than our blessings,” replied he, in a tone of self-correction; “and as we see the bright parts of our neighbors’ life, and not those which are in shadow, we are apt to forget how much may be concealed.”
“Yes,” replied Hilary, “we gaze at our neighbors as we do at the moon, and often forget their existence altogether when they are not lighted by the rays of prosperity. It requires an effort of the reason to realize that our lot in life, like the face of our planet, may seem as bright to their view as theirs does to us; we are so intimately aware of the roughnesses and inequalities which surround our feet, and see so little of the light of Heaven on our own path.”
He smiled, and answered,
“You are fond of picturesque analogy, Miss Duncan.”
“Distance alone, I think, often prevents our judging with accuracy,” continued Hilary; “what we take for an ornament, or a support, may be simply a chain or a burden; and what we fancy a halo of glory, is, perhaps, the torturing fire consuming its victim.”
“You are exerting your fancy, I think, to make me view my lot in life with complacency.”
“No, I was trying to convince you of the injustice of the charge you brought by implication against me just now,” was Hilary’s answer, half-shyly given.
“What charge?” inquired he, with some eagerness; “of what could you imagine I could accuse you, to require any justification?”