"Repine, I do not, Mary, at least, I hope not, but one cannot well help regretting; I cannot help remembering, as Macduff says, that `such things were.'" "He might well say so, Emma; for what had he lost? his wife and all his children, ruthlessly murdered; but what have we lost in comparison? nothing--a few luxuries. Have we not health and spirits? Have we not our kind uncle and aunt, who have fostered us--our cousins so attached to us? "Had it not been for the kindness of our uncle and aunt, who have brought us up as their own children, should we, poor orphans, have ever been partakers of those luxuries which you now regret? Ought we not rather to thank Heaven that circumstances have enabled us to shew some gratitude for benefits heaped upon us? How much greater are these privations to my uncle and aunt now that they are so much more advanced in years, and have been so much longer accustomed to competence and ease; and shall we repine or even regret, unless it is on their account? surely, my dear Emma, not on our own." "I feel the truth of all you say, Mary," replied Emma; "nay, all that you have now said passed in my own mind, and I have argued to myself in almost the same words, but I fear that I am not quite so much of a philosopher as you are; and, acknowledging that what you say is correct, I still have the same feeling--that is, I wish that I had not received the letter from Miss Paterson." "In that wish there can be no harm, for it is only wishing that you may not be tempted to repine." "Exactly, my dear Mary; I am a daughter of Eve," replied Emma, laughing, and rising from her seat; "I will put away Miss Paterson's letter, and I daresay in a day or two shall have forgotten all about it. Dear Alfred, how glad I am that he is promoted; I shall call him Lieutenant Campbell till he is sick of it. Come, Mary, or we shall be keeping my uncle waiting; come, Juno."