Alas! that Hagar was not wise! Alas! for the mental cripple, for the moral blind, for the injury received in infancy, for the faith crushed out! Hagar was not wise, did not understand—she continued, whenever she was permitted, sullenly to withdraw herself from the group, making the trio a couple, and oh! fatal sign, at last she was more and more frequently _allowed_ to absent herself. Hagar was insane—yes, reader, in recalling the circumstances of this period of her life, in trying to understand them, I am constrained to say that Hagar was insane, not to have seen that _her_ presence, _her_ sympathy, together with Rosalia’s perfect innocence and artlessness, would have been the immediate antidote to any poison that _might_ have crept into the intercourse of these two friends—the antidote! it would have prevented the most distant approach of an evil thought. Jealousy seldom or never prevents, frequently suggests and causes, the very infidelity it fears. No evil passion is stationary, it must increase or decrease. Hagar’s disease was growing. At first she had only been jealous of his admiration, of his affection—_now_ she was growing doubtful of his faith. Now, because wearied out by her sullenness, indignant at her unjust suspicions, even while obstinate in the pursuit of the pleasures and gratification of the tastes that excited her envy, he permitted her to withdraw from his side and isolate herself in a distant corner. As yet Rosalia’s bosom was at perfect peace—the slight shadow of the evil thought, the thought now ever gnawing at Hagar’s heart, ever by her insane jealousy _kept before Raymond’s mind_, had not darkened its brightness, had not breathed on its purity. Will the evil retrograde, or will it advance until it shall overwhelm the gentle girl? Hagar, deeply as she cherished this envy, this jealousy, was yet too proud to breathe it to her rival; besides, it was Raymond upon whom her doubts fastened, not as yet upon Rosalia. The perfect simplicity, the maidenly frankness, the childlike affection of Rosalia, was too apparent and _transparent_ to expose _her_ to doubt or suspicion. Reader, how I loathe this part of my work! this analisation of an evil passion is as detestable a task as I should judge the dissection and anatomy of a putrid heart to be. If you dislike to read it as I to write it, you will skip it all.