Do not judge me too harshly. I was ungrateful; I knew I was. My heart rose against Mrs. Linwood for her cold decision. I forgot, for the moment, her holy ministrations to my dying mother, her care and protection of me, when left desolate and alone. I forgot that I had no claims on her beyond what her compassion granted. I realized all at once that I was poor and dependent, though basking in the sunshine of wealth. In justice to myself I must say, that the bitterest tears I then shed were caused by disappointment in Mrs. Linwood's exalted character. I had imagined her "bounty as boundless as the sea, her love as deep." Now the noble proportion of her virtues seemed dwarfed, their luxuriance stinted, and withering too. While I was thus cheating my benefactress of her fair perfections, she came in with her usual quiet and stilly step, and sat down beside me. The consciousness of what was passing in my mind, made the guilty blood rush warm to my face. "You have been weeping, Gabriella," she said, in gentle accents; "your feelings are wounded, you think me cold, perhaps unkind." "Oh, madam, what have I said?" "Nothing, my dear child, and yet I have read every thing. Your ingenuous countenance expressed on my entrance as plain as words could utter, 'Hate me, for I am an ingrate.'" "You do, indeed, read very closely." "Could you look as closely into my heart, Gabriella, were my face as transparent as yours, you would understand at once my apparent coldness as anxiety for your highest good. Did I consult my own pleasure, without regard to that discipline by which the elements of character are wrought into beauty and fitness, I should cherish no wish but to see you ever near me as now, indulging the sweet dreams of youth, only the more fascinating for being shadowed with melancholy. I would save you, if possible, from becoming the victim of a diseased imagination, or too morbid a sensibility." I looked up, impressed with her calm, earnest tones, and as I listened, conscience upbraided me with injustice and ingratitude. "There is a period in every young girl's life, my dear Gabriella, when she is in danger of becoming a vain and idle dreamer, when the amusements of childhood have ceased to interest, and the shadow of woman's destiny involves the pleasures of youth. The mind is occupied with vague imaginings, the heart with restless cravings for unknown blessings. With your vivid imagination and deep sensibility, your love of reverie and abstraction, there is great danger of your yielding unconsciously to habits the more fatal in their influence, because apparently as innocent as they are insidious and pernicious. A life of active industry and usefulness is the only safeguard from temptation and sin." Oh, how every true word she uttered ennobled her in my estimation, while it humbled myself. Idler that I was in my Father's vineyard, I was holding out my hands for the clustering grapes, whose purple juice is for him who treadeth the wine-press.