"I am not like you, Margaret--ever patient, ever good," faltered poor Lady Andinnian. "I seem to be nearly torn apart with conflicting thoughts--perhaps I ought to say passions--and I thought I would come to you for a word of advice and comfort. There are two ways in which I can act in this dreadful matter; and indeed that word is no exaggeration, for it is very dreadful. The one would be to make a stir in it, take a high tone, and set forth my wrongs; that would be revenge, just revenge; but I hardly know whether it would be right, or bring right. The other would be to put up with the evil in silence, and _bear_; and leave the future to God. Which must I do?" Margaret Sumnor turned as much as she could turn without assistance, and laid both her hands imploringly on Lady Andinnian's. "Lucy! Lucy! choose the latter. I have seen, oh, so much of this revenge, and of how it has worked. My dear, I believe in my honest heart that this revenge was never yet taken but it was repented of in the end. However grave the justifying cause and cruel the provocation, the time would come when it was heartily and bitterly regretted, when its actor would say, Oh that I had not done as I did, that I had chosen the merciful part!" There was a brief silence. Miss Sumnor resumed. "'Vengeance is mine; I will repay;' you know who says that, Lucy: but you cannot know what I have seen and marked so often--that when that vengeance is taken into human hands, it somehow defeats itself. It may inflict confusion and ruin on the adversary; but it never fails to tell in some way on the inflictor. It may be only in mental regret: regret that may not set in until after long years; but, rely upon it, he never fails, in his remorseful heart, to wish the past could be undone. A regret, such as this, we have to carry with us to the grave; for it can never be remedied, the revengeful act cannot be blotted out. It has been done; and it stands with its consequences for ever: consequences, perhaps, that we never could have foreseen." Lady Andinnian sat listening with drooping face. A softer expression stole over it. "There is one thing we never can repent of, Lucy; and that is, of choosing the path of mercy--of leniency. It brings a balm with it to the sorely-chafed spirit, and heals in time. Do _you_ choose it, my dear. I urge it on you with my whole heart." "I think I will, Margaret; I think I will," she answered, raising for a moment her wet eyes. "It will mortify my pride and my self-esteem: be always mortifying them; and I shall need a great deal of patience to bear."