Frances felt herself impelled towards their disconsolate
guest, with an interest for which she could not account, and with a
force that she could not control. She had unconsciously connected the
fates of Dunwoodie and Isabella in her imagination, and she felt, with
the romantic ardor of a generous mind, that she was serving her former
lover most by exhibiting kindness to her he loved best. Isabella
received her attentions with gratitude, but neither of them indulged in
any allusions to the latent source of their uneasiness. The observation
of Miss Peyton seldom penetrated beyond things that were visible, and to
her the situation of Henry Wharton seemed to furnish an awful excuse for
the fading cheeks and tearful eyes of her niece. If Sarah manifested
less of care than her sister, still the unpracticed aunt was not at a
loss to comprehend the reason. Love is a holy feeling with the virtuous
of the female sex, and it hallows all that come within its influence.
Although Miss Peyton mourned with sincerity over the danger which
threatened her nephew, she well knew that an active campaign was not
favorable to love, and the moments that were thus accidentally granted
were not to be thrown away.
Several days now passed without any interruption of the usual avocations
of the inhabitants of the cottage, or the party at the Four Corners.
Pages:
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379