FAVOURABLE LIGHT THAN COURTSHIP.
The Honourable Charles Leicester was, take him all in all, about as
easy-tempered a fellow as ever breathed; but when old Antonelli informed
him that his young and pretty wife was closeted with a mysterious
stranger, at the same time positively refusing to allow him to enter the
apartment in which they were shut up together, even he considered that
it was time to exert himself; so seizing the old man by the arm and
swinging him round with a degree of energy which greatly discomposed
that worthy cicerone, he threw open the door, and staring with an angry
and bewildered gaze into the dimly-lighted room, discovered, to his
horror and disgust, Laura quietly sitting with her hand clasped in that
of a handsome young Italian, for such did Lewis at first sight appear.
The period which had elapsed since Leicester had last seen him had
produced so marked a change in his appearance, that meeting him for the
first time under circumstances so utterly disconnected with all former
associations, he might well deem he was addressing a total stranger.
Lewis’s pale features had regained in a great degree their look of
health, and exposure to a southern sun had converted the delicate
complexion into a manly brown, while, having allowed his moustaches
and even a short curly beard to grow, the lower part of his face
was enveloped in a mass of glossy black hair; this, and the stern,
thoughtful expression of his countenance, caused him to look at least
five years older than he really was. He rose as Leicester entered and
advanced a step towards him; then, seeing that the other did not in the
slightest degree recognise him, he paused and exchanged a smiling glance
with Laura as he marked Charley’s puzzled, angry expression.
Laura, entering thoroughly into the absurdity of the situation,
determined to improve it to the uttermost; returning Lewis’s glance with
a look into which she contrived to throw an amount of tenderness that by
no means soothed her husband’s irritation, she began--
“Ah, Charles, let me introduce you; you will be delighted to hear that
Signore Luigi has kindly promised to dine with us to-morrow.”
“The deuce he has!” muttered Leicester to himself; “he might have waited
till I had asked him, I think;” then acknowledging the introduction by a
freezing little bow, he continued aloud--
“Now, my dear Laura, we must really be going;” then crossing to the
place where his wife was seated, he held out his arm with the evident
intention of linking hers with it and walking her off forthwith.
But Laura clearly disapproved of such precipitation; for without showing
the slightest disposition to move, she replied--
“Restrain your impatience a few minutes longer, Mr. Leicester. Having
formed so agreeable an acquaintance,” she continued, glancing at Lewis,
“you really must allow me time to prosecute it.”
It was not in Charles Leicester’s nature to be angry with any one for
five minutes consecutively; with his wife, whom he idolised, it was
utterly impossible; so, making up his mind that Luigi was a kind of
lion, to be regarded in the light of an exhibition, and stared at and
fed accordingly, and that Laura’s sudden fancy for him was only an
instance of womanly caprice--“women always went mad about celebrities,”
he knew--he made a short, penitent, civil speech, and then flung himself
lazily into a chair, with a look of half-bored, half-sulky resignation,
which, under the circumstances, was perfectly irresistible.
That his two companions found it so was evidenced by their
simultaneously bursting into a hearty fit of laughter, increased to
an alarming degree by the look of blank astonishment that came over
Leicester’s face at their incomprehensible conduct.
As soon as Laura could recover breath she began, “Why, Charley, you
dear, good-natured, stupid old thing! don’t you see who it is yet?”
At the same moment the Mysterious One approached him, saying, “Have you
quite forgotten the existence of Lewis Arundel?”
For a moment Charley gazed in half-sceptical astonishment, and then
seizing his hand, and shaking it as if he were anxious to make up for
his dulness by dislocating his friend’s shoulder, he exclaimed, “My
dear fellow, I’m delighted to see you--I really am quite ashamed of
myself--but, ’pon my word, you’ve made yourself look so particularly
unlike yourself, and the whole thing altogether is so very strange and
unexpected, and more like an incident in a novel than a real _bona-fide_
transaction of every-day life, that you must hold me excused. My dear
Laura, I began to think you were gone out of your senses, and that
I should have to procure a keeper for you. Why, Arundel, then you’ve
turned out a genius after all, a second Michael Angelo, eh! I prophesied
you would, if you remember, that day when you painted the cow?”
As he spoke he stooped to pick up his cane and gloves, which in the
excitement of the discovery he had allowed to drop; consequently he
did not perceive the effect his words had produced upon Lewis. _Did_ he
remember the incident to which Leicester had alluded? Would to heaven
he could forget that which was branded on his memory as with a red-hot
iron, the fact that on the day in question he had for the first time
beheld Annie Grant! He turned pale--the blood seemed to rush back upon
his heart, and oppress him with a feeling of suffocation--he was forced
to lean against a table for support.
These signs of emotion were not lost upon Laura’s quick eye, and rising
at the moment to divert her husband’s attention, she observed, “Now I
have at length succeeded in enlightening your understanding, Charley
dear, I am quite at your service.”
“Come along then,” was the reply; “you’ll dine with us to-morrow without
fail, Signore Luigi, _alias_ Arundel, you polyglot mystery. ’Pon my
word, it’s the oddest coincidence I ever knew, exactly like a thing in a
play, where everybody turns out to be somebody else. Come along, Laura;
I must try and conciliate your old friend the cicerone, too, for I swung
him round in my wrath most viciously; I hope I have not dislocated any
of his venerable joints; I got the steam up to no end of a height, I
can tell you, when I fancied I had lost my love. By-by, _al piacer di
rivederla, Signore_.” Thus running on, Charley Leicester tucked his wife
under his arm, and having handsomely rewarded Antonelli, departed.
In the course of their walk home, Laura, after her husband had again and
again expressed his astonishment at the denouement which had just taken
place, inquired, “You never clearly made out the reason why Mr. Arundel
quitted Broadhurst, did you, Charley?”
“No! Bellefield hinted in his way, which gives one an impression without
one’s exactly knowing what grounds one has for taking it up, that
Arundel had misconducted himself in some manner; but the General’s
letter quite contradicted such an idea, and spoke of him in the very
highest terms. I thought nothing of what Bellefield said, for they never
liked one another, and _entre nous_, I consider Belle behaved shamefully
to him on one or two occasions.”
Laura paused for a minute in thought, and then inquired, “What did the
remark you made about sketching a cow refer to?”
“Oh! did I never tell you that?” returned Charles, laughing; “the
incident occurred on the occasion of his first introduction to the Grant
family;” and then he proceeded to give her a full, true, and particular
account of the interesting adventure, with which the reader is already
acquainted. As he concluded, Laura observed--
“In fact, then, he beheld for the first time Annie Grant. Now I can
guess why he turned pale when you referred to it: Charley, you must
be very careful how you say anything about the Broadhurst party before
him.”
“Eh! and wherefore, oh wise little woman, endowed with an unlimited
power of seeing into milestones?” was the bantering reply.
“Well, if I tell you, you must promise never to mention the idea, for it
is only an idea, to anybody till I give you leave,” returned Laura.
Charley compressed his lips, and went through a pantomimic
representation of sewing them together.
“Nay, but I’m serious,” resumed Laura; “if I tell you, you must be
careful, and not blunder it out in any of your absent fits; do you
promise?”
“I’ll do more than promise,” returned her husband energetically; “I’ll
swear by all
The heathen gods and goddesses,
Without skirts and bodices,
never to reveal to mortal ear the fatal secret--so let us have it!”
“Well then, if you must know, I suspect Mr. Arundel to have had better
taste than you, and not to have escaped with a whole heart from the
fascinations of Annie Grant.”
“Phew--!” replied Leicester, giving vent to a prolonged whistle
indicative of intense surprise; “that is the state of the case, eh? then
my allusion to the cow was just about the most unlucky topic I could
have hit upon. I certainly have a genius for putting my foot in it,
whenever circumstances afford an aperture for the insertion of that
extremity. I should not wonder if that idea of yours, always supposing
it to be correct, might explain his sudden departure from Broadhurst,
and account for this strange freak of expatriating himself and starting
as a second-hand modern Michael Angelo. I say, Laura, suppose the fancy
should happen to be mutual, Bellefield may have had more cause for
disliking Arundel than people were aware of.”
“She would never have accepted your brother if she knew that another
loved her, and felt that she returned his affection; Annie is too good
and true-hearted for that,” returned Laura warmly.
“Time will show,” replied Leicester. “I only hope it may not be so;
for between Arundel and Belle I should not know how to act. Belle is my
brother, and to Arundel’s good advice I shall always consider I am in
great measure indebted for a certain plague of my life--(without whose
plaguing the said life wouldn’t be worth having, all the same);--the
only course I can take, if our suspicions prove true, will be to
preserve a strict neutrality.”
“And how would you wish me to act, Charley dear?” inquired Laura, taking
her husband’s fingers caressingly between her own soft, white little
hands. “You know I can’t recommend Annie to marry your brother if she
does not love him.”
“Follow the dictates of your own good sense and kind heart, darling, and
you will be sure to do rightly. I have the most perfect confidence in
you, and would not influence you one way or another, if I could.”
The tears rose to Laura’s eyes at this fresh proof of her husband’s
affection; and as she reflected on what he had said in regard to Lewis’s
share in bringing them together, she inwardly vowed that if ever it lay
in her power to do him a similar good turn, she would not be slothful in
advancing his interests.
True to his promise, Lewis dined with them the next day; by mutual
consent all reference to the past was avoided, and no allusion made to
any of the Broadhurst party. As soon as Lewis found this to be the case,
a certain proud embarrassment observable in his manner disappeared; and
yielding to the delight of again finding himself in congenial
society, he unconsciously displayed his brilliant conversational
powers--relating, with playful wit, or forcible and striking
illustration, the adventures which had befallen him, and the scenery he
had beheld in his late pedestrian tour, till Charles and Laura, who had
only been acquainted with him when the cloud of his dependent position
at Broadhurst hung over him and concealed his natural character beneath
a veil of proud reserve, were equally delighted and astonished; and
when, late in the evening, he took his departure, they vied with each
other in performing a duet to his praise.
“He talks so well!” exclaimed Charley.
“He knows so much!” cried Laura.
“He has been everywhere,” continued the former.
“And done everything,” resumed the latter.
“He is so clever and epigrammatic,” urged the gentleman.
“And his descriptions of scenery are so poetical,” put in the lady.
“His figure is so striking,” said the master.
“And his face so handsome,” rejoined the mistress.
“What a pair of eyes he has!”
“And such a smile!”
“Then his moustaches and whiskers are irreproachable.”
“And his hands whiter than mine.”
“In fact, he is a stunner!” declared the baritone.
“Though I detest slang, I must confess that he is,” chimed in the
soprano.
“If I were a woman I should be over head and ears in love with him,”
suggested Charley.
“I am both the one and the other,” responded his wife, casting an arch
glance at her spouse, as much as to say, “How do you like that?” which
rebellious speech her lord and master punished by stopping her mouth
with--the only remedy we believe ever to have been found effectual in
such a case.
From that time forth Lewis became a constant visitor at the Palazzo
Grassini, and at last completed his triumph over Laura’s affections by
asking, as a favour, to be allowed to take a sketch of “Tarley”;
“he wanted a study of a child’s head so much.” Then the sketch was
pronounced so successful that nothing would serve but that it must be
perpetuated in oils, and as the possibility of making “Tarley” sit still
long enough for such a purpose did not exist unless Laura sat also,
Lewis consented to paint them together, although he had hitherto
steadily refused to take a portrait, in spite of large sums which had
been offered him to do so.
Laura received a second epistle from Annie Grant postponing their
visit for another fortnight. Her father had all along expected Miss
Livingstone would accompany them as a matter of course; but when it came
to the point that redoubtable spinster broke into open revolt, asserted
her independence, nailed her colours to the mast, and determined upon
death or victory. So resolute was she, that after a most obstinate
engagement with sharp tongues, which followed upon two days of sulky
silence, the General was forced to make terms and yield his own will to
that of a woman; so Minerva remained behind to garrison Broadhurst. As,
however, the General by no means approved of his daughter travelling
without some female companion, the journey was very nearly being given
up, when, at the last moment, a lady, the wife of an Austrian officer
quartered at Venice, was discovered, who, seeking for an escort to
enable her to join her husband, was only too happy to be allowed to
accompany the Grant party. These delays, however, would necessarily
retard their arrival for at least a fortnight. Days passed away; the
picture (and a very pretty one it was) of the fair young mother and her
little, rosy, merry child, advanced towards completion, and Lewis began
to look forward with a feeling almost akin to regret, to the time when
the sittings, and the agreeable, friendly conversations to which they
gave rise, would be at an end.
Since he had quitted England his thoughts and feelings had undergone
various and considerable changes; at first he had striven, in the
excitement of active adventure, to banish recollection, and after a
time he succeeded so far as to take a lively interest in all he saw. The
revolutionary spirit, which has since produced such changes in modern
Europe, was then beginning to show itself, and he witnessed the outbreak
of a rather serious _émeute_ in one of the German States, in which he
contrived to get mixed up, and by these means he came in for a couple of
day’s hard fighting, and a week of intense fatigue and excitement.
This, paradoxical as it may appear, was of the greatest psychological
assistance to him; it roused him effectually, and took him completely
out of himself. The excitement was kept up for some little time longer,
for, owing to the part which his old student associations had led him
to take in the affair, he brought upon himself the suspicions of the
Prussian government, and the next event of his tour was in fact a flight
to save himself from arrest. During this period he was accompanied by a
young German, who, much more deeply implicated in the affair than Lewis
had been, dreaded that his capture might lead to his execution;
and unwilling to atone for his patriotism with his life, he and his
companion hurried from the scene of their exploits, experiencing
innumerable dangers, difficulties, and hairbreadth escapes, ere they
arrived at that sanctuary for political refugees, the city of the
Sultan. Having by these means regained his energy and vigour of mind,
Lewis applied himself heart and soul to the study of his new profession,
and in the interest of the pursuit kept his powers, mental and bodily,
so fully employed as to hold memory at bay, and to require neither
society nor sympathy. But now a change had again come o’er him; he had
in great measure mastered the difficulties of his art, he had solved the
problem whether by his talent he could secure a competency for himself
and those belonging to him; constant and indefatigable labour was no
longer an obligation, and ere the Leicesters discovered him he had begun
to feel, though he would scarcely acknowledge it even to himself, the
want of those social ties from which, in his first frenzy of grief, he
had voluntarily separated himself. In the society of the Leicesters
he obtained exactly the amount of relaxation which he required--Laura
appreciated and understood him, Charles, without understanding, liked
him; while on his part, the lady’s society interested and soothed him,
and that of her husband afforded him amusement and companionship.
As the day approached on which the Broadhurst party were expected to
arrive, Laura became considerably perplexed as to how she might best
break the matter to Lewis: she had once, by way of experiment, mentioned
to her husband, in Lewis’s presence, the fact that she had received
a letter from Broadhurst, and the start he gave at the name, the
death-like paleness which overspread his countenance, the quivering lip,
and clenched hand, told of such deep mental suffering, that, frightened
at the effects she had produced, Laura immediately changed the subject
and had never again ventured to allude to it.
The last sitting for the picture chanced to be fixed for the very
morning before that on which the Grants were expected to arrive. Laura
consulted her husband as to the affair: Charley stroked his chin,
caressed his whiskers, gazed vacantly at himself in the chimney-glass,
and then, putting on a look of sapient self-confidence, in regard to the
reality whereof it was clear he entertained the strongest misgivings, he
began in a thorough master-of-the-family tone--
“Why, it seems to me, my love, that the present is exactly one of those
emergencies in which a woman’s tact is the very thing required. I should
advise you to feel your way with great caution, very great caution, and
when by this means you have ascertained the best method of breaking
it to him, I should speak at once without any further hesitation,
and--and----”
“I think you had better undertake the business yourself, Charley dear,
as you seem to have such a clearly defined idea how to set about it,”
interrupted Laura with a roguish smile.
“Not at all; by no means, my dear,” replied Charley, speaking with
unwonted energy. “A--in fact, so strongly do I feel that a _woman’s_
tact is the thing required, and that any interference of mine might
ruin the whole affair, and, in short, bring about something very
disagreeable, that I have made arrangements which will keep me from home
during the whole morning, so as to leave you a clear field.”
“Oh, you dreadfully transparent old impostor! a child of five years
old could see through you,” exclaimed Laura, laughing heartily at the
detected look which instantly stole over her husband’s visage. “Now, if
you don’t honestly confess that you have not an idea how to get over the
difficulty,” she continued, “that you dread a scene with a true degree
of masculine horror, and yet have not the most remote notion how to
avoid one, I’ll ‘make arrangements which will take _me_ from home all
the morning,’ and leave you to flounder through the affair as best you
can.”
“There is a vixen for you,” exclaimed Charley, appealing to society
at large. “Poor Socrates! I always had a deep commiseration for his
domestic annoyances when I read of them at school, but I little dreamed
that I should live to have personal experience of the miseries of
possessing a Xantippe;” then throwing himself into a mock-tragic
attitude, he ejaculated, “Ungrateful woman! I leave you to your fate,” and
shaking his fist at her, pressed his hand to his forehead, and rushed
distractedly out of the room--in less than two minutes he lounged
in again, drawing on his gloves. “What a bore tight gloves are!” he
murmured feebly--“here, Laura!” so saying, he seated himself by his
wife’s side, languidly holding out his hand, while with the most
helpless air imaginable he allowed her to pull on the refractory
gloves for him, which she did with a most amusing display of energy and
perseverance.
“_Voilà_, Monsieur!” she said; “that herculean feat is accomplished. Have
you aught else to command your slave?”
Charley regarded her with a look of affection as he replied, “What a
blessing it is to have a good, clever little wife to do all the horrid
things for one! Good-bye, my own! When you have done victimising Arundel
with your alarming intelligence, ask him to dine with us to-day; I want
particularly to talk to him. He knows the people here better than I do;
but it strikes me the politics of the place are getting into a fix.”
So saying, he imprinted a kiss upon her brow, admired his hand in
the new, well-fitting glove, and sauntered out of the apartment as
listlessly as though he were walking in his sleep.
Punctual to his appointment, Lewis arrived, looking so handsome
and animated that Laura felt doubly grieved at having to make a
communication which she was persuaded would tend to renew the memory of
a grief against which he appeared to have struggled with some degree of
success. Her task was rendered the more difficult from the conviction
that Lewis’s intercourse with her husband and herself had been of great
service to him, by insensibly overcoming his misanthropic distaste to
society. This intercourse, she feared, the tidings she was about to
impart to him would effectually interrupt.
“Where is ‘Tarley’?” inquired Lewis, after exchanging salutations with
“_La Madre_.”
“In the nursery, adorning for the sacrifice of his personal freedom
during the period you may require him to remain _en position_.” answered
Laura; “shall I ring for him?”
“May I fetch him myself? I promised him a ride on my back for good
conduct at the last sitting, and he must not be disappointed,” urged
Lewis in reply.
“Agreed--always promising that you take great care not to tumble the
clean frock,” returned Laura with a gratified smile. “Who could believe
that man was the same creature who used to look so stern, and cold, and
proud?” she added mentally, as Lewis departed on his mission; “he has
as much tenderness of nature as any woman. If he really does love Annie,
and she can prefer Lord Bellefield, she deserves all the unhappiness
such a choice will inevitably bring upon her; her greatest enemy can
wish her nothing worse. Well, ‘Tarley,’ are you going to sit still and
be good?” she continued, as that self-willed juvenile entered, seated in
triumph upon Lewis’s shoulder, and grasping a lock of his horse’s ebon
mane the better to preserve his balance.
“Tarley” having signified in the very smallest broken English his
intention to keep the peace to the best of his little ability, the
sitting began in good earnest, and terminated, as far as that young
gentleman was concerned, in less than an hour, during which period, as
he only tore his mamma’s gown once, made a hole in the sofa-cover, and
had one violent fit of kicking, he may comparatively be considered (all
things are comparative) to have kept his word. A few finishing touches
still remained to complete Laura’s portrait, and these Lewis hastened to
add. The conversation (originating in “Tarley’s” _escapades_) turned on
education.
“The theory which I hold to be the true one is simple enough,” remarked
Lewis; “the first thing to inculcate is--oblige me by turning a little
more to the light--implicit obedience; that once acquired--rather more
still--you may, as the mind develops, occasionally give a reason for
your commands--you see my object is to get a clearer light on the left
eye-brow--thank you; don’t move.”
“But that obedience, to be of much avail, should be founded on other
feelings than mere fear of punishment,” returned Laura; “for that in
sturdy minds produces obstinacy, in weak ones deceit and falsehood, and
in both cases necessarily loses its effect as the pupil advances towards
maturity. It always appears to me that in our conduct towards children
we should strive to imitate (with reverence be it spoken) God’s dealings
towards ourselves. We should teach them to love and trust us, and
obedience based on affection and faith will surely never fail for time
or for eternity. Then,” she continued, as Lewis, bending over his work,
failed to reply, “I should endeavour to make their punishments appear as
much as possible the natural consequences of their faults; for instance,
I should allow them to experience to the uttermost the mental suffering
caused by pride and anger, and in their cooler moments point out to them
that it may be wise, as well as right, to suffer even injustice mildly,
rather than bear the distress of mind a contrary line of conduct is sure
to entail. I should impress upon them the evil of coveting by denying
them the thing they so eagerly sought. In fact,” she added hastily,
fancying from her companion’s silence that for some reason her
conversation was distasteful to him, “I have a great many sapient,
theoretical ideas in regard to education, but how they may turn out when
I come to put them in practice remains to be proved.”
Lewis, who during the conclusion of this speech had been painting away
as zealously as if his life depended upon his exertions, though a close
observer might have remarked, by his downcast eye and quivering lip, the
effect Laura’s words produced on him, replied earnestly--
“Would to Heaven all mothers felt as truly and wisely as you do about
education; were children taught such principles of self-government as
you propose, there would be fewer aching hearts among us.”
Having uttered these words and sighed deeply, he spoke no more until he
had finished Laura’s portrait.
“There,” he said, “I need detain you no longer; with the exception of a
few touches to the drapery, which I can do at my own rooms, the picture
is completed.”
Laura approached and duly admired it, declaring the likeness of “Tarley”
to be perfect, but feeling quite certain Lewis had flattered her
terribly, at which little touch of woman’s nature the young artist
smiled as he denied the accusation. And now the moment had arrived
when Laura must break her intelligence to him as best she might. Her
straightforward, simple nature disdained all subterfuge, and she began
accordingly.
“There is a topic which, from a fear, perhaps uncalled for, of giving
you pain, Charles and I have avoided, but which I am now compelled to
mention to you. You asked me at our first meeting whether we were alone;
after to-day we shall be so no longer, and the guests we expect are none
other than your former pupil Walter, General Grant, and his daughter.”
Laura had purposely placed herself in such a position that she could
not see her companion’s features as she made this communication, and the
only sign of agitation which met her ear was the sound of his quick and
laboured breathing.
After a moment’s pause he said in a hurried, stem tone of voice, “I
cannot meet them! it is impossible, I must leave this place directly.”
“Nay, that surely is unnecessary, no one here knows you but ourselves;
you have only to resume your incognito, and in Signore Luigi, the
Venetian painter, no one will recognise Lewis Arundel. We will keep your
secret inviolably.”
“Can I rely on the discretion of Mr. Leicester?”
“Perfectly; if he knows you consider the matter important, he will
remain silent as the grave.”
“Be it so then,” returned Lewis after a pause. Having paced up and down
the room, he threw himself on a sofa, and covering his eyes with his
hand, remained buried in painful thought.
Laura watched him with deep interest, till at length she could restrain
the expression of her sympathy no longer.
“I _must_ speak that which is in my mind,” she said earnestly. “I know
that you are good and true-hearted, you _can_ have done no wrong that
you have cause to be ashamed of, why then do you fear to meet these
people?”
Lewis started, raised his head, and flinging back his dark hair,
exclaimed almost fiercely, “Did you say fear? I fear no living being!
There is no man who can accuse me of evil-doing; my name is as spotless
as your own pure soul.”
“Then why refuse to meet them?”
“Because I fear my own heart,” was the vehement reply, “because I have
sworn never to meet her again till I have learned to look upon her
with the indifference her weak fickleness deserves, and that,” he added
bitterly, “will not be till grey hairs bring insensibility to woman’s
love and such-like gilded toys, or till she has crushed out the last
germs of my lingering madness by marrying the heartless scoundrel to
whom she is engaged.” He paused, and then continued more calmly, “You
ask me why I refuse to meet these people; hear the truth, and then judge
for yourself whether I can meet them; nay, judge for me also if you
will, for I am half-frenzied by the anguish I have suffered, and am as
incapable to decide for myself in this affair as a child, such puppets
are we to our loves and hates;” and then in eager, hurried accent he
told her of his love for Annie Grant, his struggle for self-conquest,
his signal failure, his fearful hope that she returned his affection,
the parting, his confession to the General, the strange tidings he
had learned in London, and then the cruel paralysing blow of Annie’s
engagement, renewed the very day after he had left Broadhurst, believing
on no slight grounds that she loved him and him only. All the burning
sorrow, pent for two long years within his secret soul, he poured forth
before her; and Laura listened with glowing cheeks and tearful eyes,
and a growing resolve in her brave, pure heart to set aside all
conventionalisms and every hollow form of society, and if Annie should
but prove worthy of him, to labour with all the energy of her earnest
nature to bring these young, sad, loving hearts together again.