Clara had often seen this making religious duty an excuse for selfishness, and she had a contempt for it as natural as was her repulsion to everything dark and ugly. She replied boldly, “I hear much about principles and religion, and I am compelled to judge them by their fruits. My father, you say, has no religion. Surely principles are better than religion, if one leads to helpful sympathy with all misfortune, and the other to cold calculation of the effect of evil tongues. I have thought over all the possible results, mamma, and I have decided. I know one who will help Susie openly, and without either calculation or shame; and I shall certainly follow his example, for I will trust my father’s sense of right against the world!” and with this, delivered very dramatically and rapidly, Clara left the room. CHAPTER XIII. PAPA’S OWN GIRL. Not long after Clara left her mother and Miss Marston, she rapped very softly on Susie’s door, not wishing to wake her if sleeping, and thus oblivious for the time, to her misery. Thinking it was Dinah, Susie bade the knocker come in. She was trying to dress herself, and sat by her glass brushing her long light hair. Perceiving the happy sister of Dan, resplendent in her youth and beauty, Susie buried her face with her pretty round arms, and wept softly. Clara approached her, and patted her white shoulder, saying, “Poor Susie! I have come to comfort you in your trouble. I know all about it, and I am so sorry, but I blame my brother far more than I do you;” at the mention of Dan, Susie sobbed aloud. “He is so cruel to you after all your loving him.” “Don’t blame him too much,” sobbed Susie. “He could not help it. If I were handsome and educated like Miss Marston, he would love me always; but it is so hard. I wonder why I cannot die. Every hour is harder and harder to bear.” Clara’s tender heart was profoundly touched. This was the first time she had ever been brought face to face with real anguish, and she found it more terrible than any romance had ever pictured it. She reproached herself for ever thinking even for one moment of consequences, in view of so plain a question of duty as trying to comfort this poor girl in every possible way. Yet she hardly knew what to say or do in the presence of such agony. She felt the necessity, however, of saying something, and inspiration and hope came as soon as she saw her words had any effect. “Don’t give way so, dear child, I beg you. Remember what papa says, ‘Grief cannot last forever.’ Time will soften it all away, and if you live a noble life after this, as I am confident you will, you will have good and true friends. See how papa is going to stand by you; and I am also, if you will let me.” “If I will let you!” repeated Susie, raising her head. “What a good angel you are! I am not good enough to deserve so much kindness.”