Now and then, especially when anything strongly reminded me of my mother, my better self—that self which loved Andrew—came uppermost, but at such times, I suffered so much from the reproaches of conscience, that I strove by every means to stifle its voice. I said to myself that my father and mother had been brought by the circumstances in which they were placed to take a gloomy view of religion and its requirements. That the strictness which they had inculcated was not needful at present, and that it tended (a favorite argument this with the devil) to make religion unamiable. That a man or woman might be a Christian and yet allow themselves many diversions which the stricter sort denied. In fine, my thought was, not how much I could do for my Lord, but how much of the world I could safely keep for myself. I was like a man who in time of war, instead of fleeing to the safe hills in the interior of the country, chooses to live as near the border as he can for the advantage of keeping up a trade with the enemy. Instead of simply shutting my ears to my cousin's infidel reasonings and declining the subject, I allowed myself to listen to him, and to be influenced by him to think that so long as a man lived a good life, forms and doctrines mattered very little, and I did not ask myself on what this good life was to be founded. In short, I grew more and more conformed to the world, which in the bottom of my heart I had always loved, and in proportion as I did so, the remembrance of my father and mother, and of their teachings faded from my mind, I still loved Andrew enough to reject with considerable vivacity a proposal made me by young Mr. Champernoun, a gentleman of the neighborhood, with a good fortune, and I must say a personable and pleasing man, though grave beyond his years. My lord and lady were very much vexed at my refusal, and used every argument to make me change my resolution, saying that Mr. Champernoun was a much better match than Andrew could ever be—which was true so far as fortune went—and that I should perhaps never have so good a chance to settle in life again. "Well, well!" said my lord at last. "Wilful must have her way. An I had not promised your honored mother never to force your inclinations in any such matter, I should not use so much ceremony with you, mistress! You should be made to do what was best for you, whether you liked it or not." He could not let the matter rest, but must needs take it up again when his son was present. "Vevette is right," said my young lord. "Were I in her place I would not marry black Basil Champernoun either—a sour Puritan and precisian whose father was in the favor of Old Noll as long as he lived. I wonder, my lord, that you could think of such a thing." "Aye, aye, you would fain find her a husband, I dare say; but mind, I will have none of that. If Vevette is flying at any such game, she may as well come down at once."