a warm heart, to which conscience acted the part of a somewhat
capricious stoker, now quenching its heat with the cold water of
duty, now stirring it up with the poker of reproach, and ever
treating it as an inferior and a slave. But her conscience was, on
the whole, a better friend to her race than her heart; and, indeed,
the conscience is always a better friend than a heart whose motions
are undirected by it. From Falconer's account of her, however, I
cannot help thinking that she not unfrequently took refuge in
severity of tone and manner from the threatened ebullition of a
feeling which she could not otherwise control, and which she was
ashamed to manifest. Possibly conscience had spoken more and more
gently as its behests were more and more readily obeyed, until the
heart began to gather courage, and at last, as in many old people,
took the upper hand, which was outwardly inconvenient to one of Mrs.
Falconer's temperament. Hence, in doing the kindest thing in the
world, she would speak in a tone of command, even of rebuke, as if
she were compelling the performance of the most unpleasant duty in
the person who received the kindness. But the human heart is hard
to analyze, and, indeed, will not submit quietly to the operation,
however gently performed. Nor is the result at all easy to put into
words. It is best shown in actions.

Again, it may appear rather strange that Robert should be able to
talk in such an easy manner to his grandmother, seeing he had been
guilty of concealment, if not of deception. But she had never been
so actively severe towards Robert as she had been towards her own
children. To him she was wonderfully gentle for her nature, and
sought to exercise the saving harshness which she still believed
necessary, solely in keeping from him every enjoyment of life which
the narrowest theories as to the rule and will of God could set down