“That’s so like you, Cornelia,” said her cousin, Harry Peters, laughing, “you always lake ‘the forlorne hope’ in an argument, and seize up the cudgels for the minority.”
“You are unjust, Harry,” replied Cornelia, a little piqued, “I always take the side of my opinion, and defend that which I think honest and right. I scarcely know Mrs. Barclay, therefore, neither am I prejudiced, for she is no favorite of mine; she always seemed to me a cold, selfish woman, even when everybody, and you particularly, Harry, admired her so much. But I do say, that I do not excuse, I uphold her conduct in this matter. Even thus should I have acted had I been thus placed, guided by a strict sense of duty. I could love as devotedly and truly as any of you, but my love would wither away, under the scorching breath of dishonor and crime.”
The conversation grew very animated, and all spoke at once, to express their decided opposition to Cornelia, but she stoutly defended her position.
“True, Cornelia,” said her mother, “your love might be weakened, but would that change of feeling justify desertion?”
“It would not be desertion, mother,” replied Cornelia, “it would be fleeing from the plague spot of sin. No one has a right to subject their spiritual nature to the degrading influence of daily association with crime.”
This was what Harry Peters playfully called, “one of Cornelia’s grand, solemn, rhetorical conclusions,” which generally silenced all further debate, without convincing any one; but often, in after hours of sorrow, Cornelia’s figure and countenance, as she looked during this conversation, would come before me, with painful distinctness. In her earnestness she had arisen from her seat, and her fine, tall figure seemed dilated with indignation, while her beautiful face was stern and severe as that of the avenging Archangel.
Poor Cornelia! _then_, she knew not what trouble was. Her father was a prosperous merchant, and her mother was a gentle, delicate woman, who rarely interfered with any one, except to do some sweet office of love. Cornelia was a complete contrast to both of her parents; for her father, a bright, joyous, warm-hearted man, was even weakly indulgent to others. They were a loving, happy family, and Cornelia, although stern and severe to what she called error, was enthusiastic in her love for her family, ready to sacrifice any thing for them, if occasion required. I always felt improved in spirit as well as in body, after a visit to them, for they all seemed to enjoy life so healthily and properly. Possessing ample means, and in the midst of a pleasant circle of friends, they appeared to be exempt from humanity’s penalty—trouble. But sunshine dwelleth not always with us, and every light hath its shadow.