First, Hagar’s jealousy. We have seen how inevitably that jealousy sprang from a want of the faith that had been chilled to death in her heart by the coldness and neglect of her guardians in infancy. We have seen how that jealousy, by its violence, exasperated the anger of her husband; by its injustice (for in its commencement it was unjust), alienated his affections; by its pertinacity, suggested and kept before him the evil thought until it grew familiar. So much for the baleful effect of her jealousy upon Raymond. Its influence upon Rosalia may be summed up in a very few words—by manifesting itself in coldness and aversion, it threw the tender-hearted and guileless girl upon the ready sympathy and affection of Raymond for consolation. Do you now see the madness of this jealousy, and its powerful agency in bringing on the desolation of heart and home it feared and dreaded? Second, Rosalia’s tenderness—tenderness unsupported by strength of principle, heart unprotected by mind. We have seen that this softness was no more nor less than the feebleness of a character enervated by fond and foolish indulgence in her infancy. We have seen that this weakness made her dependent upon the love of those around her as the very breath of life; we have seen that when repulsed by Hagar’s coldness, it threw her for sympathy upon the affections of the only friend at hand; one whom, of all others, just at this crisis she should have been guarded against. Third, the self-indulgence of Raymond. A delicacy cultivated and refined for years into an effeminacy that _seemed_ harmless enough, yet that, as time passed, insidiously undermined his moral strength, rendering him daily more averse to self-denial, until he became incapable of self-resistance. Could either of several good principles now have been brought into exercise, it would have, even _now_, arrested the impending catastrophe; could Hagar, by prayer, by effort, have thrown off her jealousy, have practised faith, candor, charity—could she have shown kindness to Rosalia, who was, as yet, entirely innocent in thought, word, and deed—could she have pitied and forgiven Raymond, who, as yet, was guiltless in act or intention. Or, could Rosalia have sought aid from heaven, and balanced her gentleness by self-sustaining strength upon its feet. Or, lastly, could Raymond have awakened and aroused his great latent moral strength from the bathos of luxury in which it was half drowned; could he have risen and shaken himself like a lion in his strength, throwing off the moral lethargy stealing upon him; could he have risen as Samson arose in his might, breaking the fetters that bound him, they might yet have been saved.