A thought comes over her which makes her blush and turn from herself--her parents might keep the annuity--the curate would marry her and give a home to her and the boy. But George's picture and dearest memory are there to rebuke her. Shame and love say no to the sacrifice. She shrinks from it as from something unholy, and such thoughts never found a resting-place in that pure and gentle bosom.
The combat, which we describe in a sentence or two, lasted for many weeks in poor Amelia's heart, during which she had no confidante; indeed, she could never have one, as she would not allow to herself the possibility of yielding, though she was giving way daily before the enemy with whom she had to battle. One truth after another was marshalling itself silently against her and keeping its ground. Poverty and misery for all, want and degradation for her parents, injustice to the boy--one by one the outworks of the little citadel were taken, in which the poor soul passionately guarded her only love and treasure.

Then, blushing, she thinks that the curate would willingly marry her and give a home to her and the boy. But George's picture and dearest memory are there to rebuke her. Shame and love say no. She shrinks from the idea as from something unholy.
This combat lasted for many weeks in poor Amelia's heart. Although she would not admit to herself the possibility of yielding, she was giving way. One truth after another was marshalling itself silently against her. Poverty and misery, want and degradation for her parents, injustice to the boy - one by one the outworks of the little citadel were taken.
