And now again did young Agnes doubt her power of answering with propriety. The principle of truth was strong within her, and to have expressed either sympathy or gratitude would have been an outrage to this principle, which would have made her hate herself ... she could not, she would not do it; and in reply to her aunt's harangue, who seemed to wait for her answer, she only said, "The dress of a widow is indeed very sad to look upon; no one can doubt that, aunt Barnaby." "Good Heaven!... then _you_ also suffer from the sight of it, my poor child!... Poor dear Agnes! I ought to have thought of this before; ... but I will wound your young heart no longer. This week shall end a suffering so heavy, and so unnecessary for us both, and I trust you will never forget what you owe me. And yet, my dear, though I hope and believe I shall be sustained, and find myself capable of making this effort respecting my own dress, there is a tender weakness still struggling at my heart, Agnes, which would make it very painful to me were I immediately to see you change yours. Do you feel any repugnance, my dear girl, to wearing that deep mourning for your poor uncle for some months longer?" Agnes now felt no difficulty whatever in answering as she was expected to do, and very eagerly replied, "Oh! dear no, aunt ... none in the least." "I rejoice," said the widow, solemnly, "to perceive in you, young as you are, Agnes, feelings so perfectly what they ought to be; ... you would spare me suffering from sadness too profound, yet would you, my child, in all things not injurious to me, desire to testify your deep respect for the invaluable being we have lost. This is exactly what I would wish to see, and I trust you will ever retain a disposition so calculated to make me love you. But look not so sad, my love!... I really must invent some occupation to cheer and amuse you, Agnes.... Let me see ... what say you, dearest, to running some edging for me on a tulle border for my _tour de bonnet_?" * * * * * The widow faithfully kept her kind promise to Agnes, and never again (excepting for a short interval that will be mentioned hereafter) did she run the risk of grieving any heart by the sight of deep mourning for her lost Barnaby, for though she restrained herself for some time longer within the sober dignity of black satins and silks as the material of her robes, there was no colour of the rainbow that did not by degrees find its way amidst her trimmings and decorations. During this period all the hours not devoted to the displaying her recovered finery in church or street, were employed in converting cheap muslin into rich embroidery, and labouring to make squares of Scotch cambric assume the appearance of genuine _batiste_, rich with the delicate labours of Moravian needles.