Morton was looking in vain for Ann Eliza. If she were present he could hardly tell it. Make the bonnets of women cover their faces and make them all alike, and set them in meeting with faces resting forward upon their hands, and then dress them in a uniform of homespun cotton, and there is not much individuality left. If Ann Eliza Meacham were present she would, according to custom, speak early; and all that this love-feast lacked was one of her rapt and eloquent utterances. So when the speaking and singing had gone on for an hour, and the voice of Sister Meacham was not heard, Morton sadly concluded that she must have remained at home, heart-broken on account of disappointment at his neglect. In this he was wrong. Just at that moment a sister rose in the further corner of the room and began to speak in a low and plaintive voice. It was Ann Eliza. But how changed! She proceeded to say that she had passed through many fiery trials in her life. Of late she had been led through deep waters of temptation, and the floods of affliction had gone over her soul. (Here some of the brethren sighed, and some of the sisters looked at Brother Goodwin.) The devil had tempted her to stay at home. He had tempted her to sit silent this morning, telling her that her voice would only discourage others. But at last she had got the victory and received strength to bear her cross. With this, her voice rose and she spoke in tones of plaintive triumph to the end. Morton was greatly affected, not because her affliction was universally laid at his door, but because he now began to feel, as he had not felt before, that he had indeed wrought her a great injury. As she stood there, sorrowful and eloquent, he almost loved her. He pitied her; and Pity lives on the next floor below Love.