In your heart there stands an angel, watching, silent, on whose lips are kindly words, in whose hands are patient, kindly deeds, whose eyes see "good in everything," something to love where love is hardest, some generous, gentle way to show that love when ways seem closed.

In your heart, too, away down in its darkest corner, all forgotten, perhaps, by you, crouches something with face too black to look upon, something that likewise watches and waits with horrible patience, if perhaps the angel, with folded wing and drooping head, may be driven out.

It is never empty, this curious, fickle heart.

One or the other must stand there, king of it.

One or the other--and in the twinkling of an eye the change is made, from angel to fiend, from fiend to angel; just which you choose.
Joy broke away from her cousin in a passion.