“That’s another instance of the harm I do wherever I go,” said poor Blanche, reading the letter, “and in this case I was really trying to undo the past, very foolishly as I see now. Tell Swanhild that she is quite free from her promise, and that if it has done harm I am sorry. But I always do harm! Do you remember that story of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s about the daughter of the botanist, who was brought up on the juices of a beautiful poison-plant, and who poisoned with her breath every one that came near her? I think I am like that.” “I remember it,” he replied. “A weird, unwholesome story. But if I remember right, the heroine died herself rather than poison others.” “Yes, and that is what I wish to do,” she said, with once more that look in her eyes which had startled him. “But I am a coward; I haven’t the courage.” “Wait,” he said gravely: “there is a real truth in your idea, but do not set about it in a wrong way. To seek physical death would only be to take another wrong step. It is not you, but your selfishness that must die.” “But if I were not what you would call selfish, if I did not love to attract men and make them do just what I please, if I did not enjoy the feeling that they are in love with me, I should no longer be myself,” she said. “You would no longer be your false self,” he replied. “You would be your true self. Do you think God made you beautiful that you might be a snare in the world? He made you to be a joy and a blessing, and you have abused one of his best gifts.” She began to cry again, to sob piteously, almost like a child. Charles Osmond spoke once more, and there was a great tenderness in his voice. “You have found now that self-pleasing brings misery to yourself and every one else. I know you wish to do right, but you must do more than that; you must resolutely give your body, soul, and spirit to God, desiring only to do his will.” She looked up once more, speaking with the vehemence of despair. “Oh,” she said, “it seems all real now while I talk to you, but I know it will fade away, and the temptations will be much more strong. You don’t know what the world is—you are good, and you have no time to see with your own eyes how, underneath all that is so respectable, it is hollow and wicked.” “It will be your own fault if you are not stronger than the temptations with which God allows you to be assailed,” he said. “You loathe and fear evil, and that is a step in the right direction, but now you must turn right away from it, and learn to look at purity, and goodness, and love. Don’t believe that vice is to conquer—that is the devil’s lie. The strength of the Infinite the love of the All-Father will conquer—and that love and that strength are for you.” “What!” sobbed Blanche, “for a woman who has dishonored her name—a woman cast out of society?” Charles Osmond took her hand in his strong, firm clasp. “Yes, my child,” he said, “they are for you.” There was a long silence.