"But aunt Caxton," said Eleanor, who felt herself taken down a little, as a secure talker is apt to be by a manner very composed in his opponent—"it is surely the habit of refined persons in these times not to get excited—or not to express their feelings very publicly?"
"A very good habit," said Mrs. Caxton. "Nevertheless I have seen a man—a gentleman—and a man in very high standing, in a public assembly, go white with anger and become absolutely speechless, with the strength of passion, at some offence he had taken."
"O such passions, of course, will display themselves sometimes," said
Eleanor. "Bad passions often will. They escape control."
"I have seen a lady—a lovely and refined lady—faint away at the sudden tidings that a child's life was secure,—whom she had almost given up for lost."
"But, dear aunt Caxton! you do not call that a parallel case?"
"A parallel case with what?"
"Anybody might be excited at such a thing. You would wonder if they were not."
"I do not see the justness of your reasoning, Eleanor. A man may turn white with passion, and it is natural; woman may faint with joy at receiving back her child from death; and you are not surprised. But the joy of suddenly seeing eternal life one's own—the joy of knowing that God has forgiven our sins—you think may be borne calmly. I have known people faint under that joy as well."
"Aunt Caxton," said Eleanor, her voice growing hoarse, "I do not see how anybody can have it. How can they know their sins are forgiven?"
"You may find it in your Bible, Eleanor; did you never see it there?
'The Spirit witnesseth with our spirit, that we are the children of
God.'"