I know that my guardian angel whispered the thoughts that now came into my head as I read and pondered; because I had prayed to be led as a sheep by the shepherd, being but a simple, weakly child. I determined on two things--to show the letter I had received from Gabrielle to my father, for conscience loudly whispered concealment was wrong; and never to quit him, because the time might come when he, perhaps, would require, or be glad of my attendance. I felt quite happy after forming these resolutions on my knees; and I wrote to Gabrielle telling her of them. I know not if my father observed what I said, but he took no notice, for he was half asleep and smoking; so I left the letter beside him, as I ever did afterward, for I often heard from my beloved sister: and oh! but it _was_ hard to resist her entreaties that I would come to her--that it was for my sake as well as her own she had taken so bold a step; and that now she had a pleasant home for me, and I refused. It was hard to refuse; but God was with me, or I never could have had strength of myself to persevere in duty, and "_deny myself_." When Gabrielle found arguments and entreaties vain, she gave way to bursts of anguish that nearly overcame me; but when "I was weak, then I was strong," and I clasped my precious Bible, and told her I _dared_ not leave my father. Then came presents of books, and all kinds of beautiful and useful things, to add to my comfort or improvement. Gabrielle told me they were settled in a pretty cottage near the Hall, and that Mr. Erminstoun had forgiven his son. Mr. Erminstoun was a widower, and had five daughters by a former marriage--Gabrielle's husband being the only child of his second union: the Misses Erminstoun were all flourishing in single blessedness, and were known throughout the country-side as the "proud Miss Erminstouns." These ladies were tall, and what some folks call "dashing women;" wearing high feathers, bright colors, and riding hither and thither in showy equipages, or going to church on the Sabbath with a footman following their solemn and majestic approach to the house of prayer, carrying the richly-emblazoned books of these "miserable sinners." How I pined to hear from Gabrielle that she was happy, and cherished by her new connections; that she was humbled also, in some measure--abashed at the bold step she had taken. So young--so fair--so determined. I trembled, girl as I was, when I thought that God's wrath might fall on her dear head, and chasten her rebellious spirit. Six months subsequent to Gabrielle's departure our father died, after but a few days' severe suffering. Dying, he took my hand and murmured, "Good child!" and those precious words fell as a blessing on my soul; and I know he listened to the prayers which God put into my heart to make for his departing spirit. I mourned for the dead, because he was my father and I his child....