to confer favours: it is the duty of a benefactress to command her feelings, and to refrain absolutely from every species of direct or indirect reproach; else her kindness becomes only a source of misery; and even from the benevolence of her disposition she derives the means of giving pain. “I have said enough; and I know that you will not be offended. The moment your understanding is convinced and your heart touched, all paltry jealousies and petty irritations subside, and you are always capable of acting in a manner worthy of yourself. Adieu!--May you, my dear friend, preserve the affections of one who feels for you, I am convinced, the most sincere gratitude! You will reap a rich harvest, if you do not, with childish impatience, disturb the seeds that you have sown, to examine whether they are growing. “Your faithful friend, “L. LITTLETON.” This letter had an immediate and strong effect upon the mind of Mrs. Somers: she went directly with it open in her hand to Emilie. “Here,” said she, “is the letter of a noble-minded woman, who dares to speak truth, painful truth, to her best friend. She does me justice in being convinced that I shall not be offended; she does me justice in believing that an appeal to my candour and generosity cannot be in vain, especially when it is made by her voice. Emilie, you shall see that I am worthy to have a sincere friend; you shall see that I can even command my temper, when I have what, to my own feelings and understanding, appears adequate motive. But, my dear, you are in pain--let me look at this ankle--I am absolutely afraid to see it!--Good Heavens! how it is swelled!--And I fancied, all yesterday, that you could have walked upon it!--And I thought you wanted only to excite pity!--My poor child!--I have used you barbarously--most barbarously!” cried Mrs. Somers, kneeling down beside the sofa. “And can you ever forgive me?--Yes! that sweet smile tells me that you can.” “All I ask of you,” said Emilie, embracing Mrs. Somers, “is to believe that I am grateful, and to continue to make me love you as long as I live. This must depend upon you more than upon myself.” “I know it, my dear,” said Mrs. Somers. “Be satisfied--I will not wear out your affections. You have dealt fairly with me. I love you for having the courage to speak as you think.--But now that it is all over, I must tell you what it was that displeased me--for I hate half reconciliations: I will tell you all that passed in my mind.” “Pray do,” said Emilie; “for then I shall know how to avoid displeasing you another time.”