LOUISA. Good morning, dear father!     

       MILLER (affectionately). Bless thee, my Louisa! I rejoice to see thy thoughts are turned so diligently to thy Creator. Continue so, and his arm will support thee.     

       LOUISA. Oh! I am a great sinner, father! Was he not here, mother?     

       MRS MILLER. Who, my child?     

       LOUISA. Ah! I forgot that there are others in the world besides him—my head wanders so. Was he not here? Ferdinand?     

       MILLER (with melancholy, serious voice). I thought my Louisa had forgotten that name in her devotions?     

       LOUISA (after looking at him steadfastly for some time). I understand you, father. I feel the knife which stabs my conscience; but it comes too late. I can no longer pray, father. Heaven and Ferdinand divide my bleeding soul, and I fear—I fear—(after a pause). Yet no, no, good father. The painter is best praised when we forget him in the contemplation of his picture. When in the contemplation of his masterpiece, my delight makes me forget the Creator,—is not that, father, the true praise of God?     

       MILLER (throws himself in displeasure on a chair). There we have it! Those are the fruits of your ungodly reading.     

       LOUISA (uneasy, goes to the window). Where can he be now? Ah! the high-born ladies who see him—listen to him——I am a poor forgotten maiden. (Startles at that word, and rushes to her father.) But no, no! forgive me. I do not repine at my lot. I ask but little—to think on him—that can harm no one. Ah! that I might breathe out this little spark of life in one soft fondling zephyr to cool his cheek! That       this fragile floweret, youth, were a violet, on which he might tread, and I die modestly beneath his feet! I ask no more, father! Can the proud, majestic day-star punish the gnat for basking in its rays?     

       MILLER (deeply affected, leans on the arm of his chair, and covers his face). My child, my child, with joy would I sacrifice the remnant of my days hadst thou never seen the major.     

       LOUISA (terrified.) How; how? What did you say? No, no! that could not be your meaning, good father. You know not that Ferdinand is mine! You know not that God 

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