When news came from time to time of the movements of that MAN then representing England in the Peninsula, of his advance from success to success--that advance so deliberate but so unswerving, so circumspect but so certain, so "unhasting" but so "unresting;" when he read Lord Wellington's own dispatches in the columns of the newspapers, documents written by modesty to the dictation of truth--Moore confessed at heart that a power was with the troops of Britain, of that vigilant, enduring, genuine, unostentatious sort, which must win victory to the side it led, in the end.

When he read Lord Wellington's dispatches in the newspapers, Moore felt that vigilant commander must win victory in the end.


But that end, he thought, was yet far off; and meantime he, Moore, as an individual, would be crushed, his hopes ground to dust.

But the end, he thought, was still far off; and meantime he, Moore, would be crushed, his hopes ground to dust.


It was himself he had to care for, his hopes he had to pursue; and he would fulfil his destiny.


He fulfilled it so vigorously that ere long he came to a decisive rupture with his old Tory friend the rector.

He soon came to a decisive rupture with his old Tory friend the rector.


They quarrelled at a public meeting, and afterwards exchanged some pungent letters in the newspapers.


Mr. Helstone denounced Moore as a Jacobin, ceased to see him, would not even speak to him when they met.

Mr. Helstone denounced Moore as a Jacobin, and would not speak to him when they met.


He intimated also to his niece, very distinctly, that her communications with Hollow's Cottage must for the present cease; she must give up taking French lessons.

He told his niece that her communications with Hollow's Cottage must cease; she must give up taking French lessons.


The language, he observed, was a bad and frivolous one at the best, and most of the works it boasted were bad and frivolous, highly injurious in their tendency to weak female minds.

The language, he observed, was a bad and frivolous one, and most works in French were highly injurious to weak female minds.


He wondered (he remarked parenthetically) what noodle first made it the fashion to teach women French.


It was like feeding a rickety child on chalk and water gruel.


Caroline must give it up, and give up her cousins too.

Caroline must give up French, and give up her cousins too.


Mr. Helstone quite expected opposition to this order; he expected tears.


Seldom did he trouble himself about Caroline's movements, but a vague idea possessed him that she was fond of going to Hollow's Cottage; also he suspected that she liked Robert Moore's occasional presence at the rectory.

He had a vague idea that she was fond of going to Hollow's Cottage; also he suspected that she liked Robert Moore's occasional presence at the rectory.


The Cossack had perceived that whereas if Malone stepped in of an evening to make himself sociable and charming, by pinching the ears of an aged black cat, which usually shared with Miss Helstone's feet the accommodation of her footstool, or by borrowing a fowling-piece, and banging away at a tool shed door in the garden while enough of daylight remained to show that conspicuous mark, keeping the passage and sitting-room doors meantime uncomfortably open for the convenience of running in and out to announce his failures and successes with noisy _brusquerie_--he had observed that under such entertaining circumstances Caroline had a trick of disappearing, tripping noiselessly upstairs, and remaining invisible till called down to supper.

He had perceived that when the Irish curate Malone visited, Caroline would disappear upstairs, and remain invisible till called down to supper.


On the other hand, when Robert Moore was the guest, though he elicited no vivacities from the cat, did nothing to it, indeed, beyond occasionally coaxing it from the stool to his knee, and there letting it purr, climb to his shoulder, and rub its head against his cheek; though there was no ear-splitting cracking off of firearms, no diffusion of sulphurous gunpowder perfume, no noise, no boasting during his stay--that still Caroline sat in the room, and seemed to find wondrous content in the stitching of Jew-basket pin-cushions and the knitting of missionary-basket socks.

On the other hand, when Robert Moore was the guest, she stayed in the room, quietly stitching pin-cushions.


She was very quiet, and Robert paid her little attention, scarcely ever addressing his discourse to her; but Mr. Helstone, not being one of those elderly gentlemen who are easily blinded--on the contrary, finding himself on all occasions extremely wide-awake--had watched them when they bade each other good-night.

Robert paid her little attention; but Mr. Helstone had watched them when they bade each other good-night.


He had just seen their eyes meet once--only once.


Some natures would have taken pleasure in the glance then surprised, because there was no harm and some delight in it.


It was by no means a glance of mutual intelligence, for mutual love secrets existed not between them.


There was nothing then of craft and concealment to offend: only Mr. Moore's eyes, looking into Caroline's, felt they were clear and gentle; and Caroline's eyes, encountering Mr. Moore's, confessed they were manly and searching. Each acknowledged the charm in his or her own way. Moore smiled slightly, and Caroline coloured as slightly.

There was nothing in that glance to offend: only Moore smiled slightly, and Caroline coloured as slightly.


Mr. Helstone could, on the spot, have rated them both. They annoyed him.


If you had asked him what Moore merited at that moment, he would have said a "horsewhip;" if you had inquired into Caroline's deserts, he would have adjudged her a box on the ear; if you had further demanded the reason of such chastisements, he would have stormed against flirtation and love-making, and vowed he would have no such folly going on under his roof.

If you had asked him, he would have stormed against flirtation and love-making, and vowed he would have no such folly going on under his roof.


These private considerations, combined with political reasons, fixed his resolution of separating the cousins.

For this reason, as well as political ones, he resolved to separate the cousins.


He announced his will to Caroline one evening as she was sitting at work near the drawing-room window.


Her face was turned towards him, and the light fell full upon it. It had struck him a few minutes before that she was looking paler and quieter than she used to look.

The light fell on her face, and it struck him that she was looking paler and quieter than she used to.


It had not escaped him either that Robert Moore's name had never, for some three weeks past, dropped from her lips; nor during the same space of time had that personage made his appearance at the rectory.

He had noticed that Robert Moore's name had never, for some three weeks, dropped from her lips; nor had Moore during that time visited the rectory.


Some suspicion of clandestine meetings haunted his mind.

Some suspicion of secret meetings haunted Mr. Helstone.


Having but an indifferent opinion of women, he always suspected them. He thought they needed constant watching.

He thought women needed constant watching.


It was in a tone dryly significant he desired her to cease her daily visits to the Hollow.

In a dryly significant tone he desired Caroline to cease her daily visits to the Hollow.


He expected a start, a look of depreciation. The start he saw, but it was a very slight one; no look whatever was directed to him.

He expected a start; but saw only a very slight one.


"Of course you mean to attend to what I say?"


"And there must be no letter-scribbling to your cousin Hortense--no intercourse whatever.

"And there must be no letter-scribbling to your cousin Hortense - no communication whatever.


I do not approve of the principles of the family.


There was no vexed flushing of the face, no gathering tears; the shadowy thoughtfulness which had covered her features ere Mr. Helstone spoke remained undisturbed; she was obedient.

There was no vexed flushing of the face, no gathering tears; she was thoughtful and obedient.


Yes, perfectly; because the mandate coincided with her own previous judgment; because it was now become pain to her to go to Hollow's Cottage; nothing met her there but disappointment.

Yes, perfectly; because the order coincided with her own decision. It was now painful to her to go to Hollow's Cottage; nothing met her there but disappointment.


Hope and love had quitted that little tenement, for Robert seemed to have deserted its precincts.

Hope and love had left that little house, for Robert seemed to have deserted it.


Whenever she asked after him--which she very seldom did, since the mere utterance of his name made her face grow hot--the answer was, he was from home, or he was quite taken up with business.

Whenever she asked after him, he was away from home, or taken up with business.


Hortense feared he was killing himself by application.


He scarcely ever took a meal in the house; he lived in the counting-house.


At church only Caroline had the chance of seeing him, and there she rarely looked at him.

Only at church had Caroline the chance of seeing him, and there she rarely looked at him.


It was both too much pain and too much pleasure to look--it excited too much emotion; and that it was all wasted emotion she had learned well to comprehend.

It was both too much pain and too much pleasure to look - it brought too much emotion; and that it was all wasted emotion she had learned to comprehend.


Once, on a dark, wet Sunday, when there were few people at church, and when especially certain ladies were absent, of whose observant faculties and tomahawk tongues Caroline stood in awe, she had allowed her eye to seek Robert's pew, and to rest awhile on its occupant.

Once, on a dark, wet Sunday, when there were few people at church, Caroline had allowed her eye to seek Robert's pew.


Hortense had been kept at home by prudent considerations relative to the rain and a new spring _chapeau_.

Hortense had been kept at home by the rain.


During the sermon he sat with folded arms and eyes cast down, looking very sad and abstracted.

He sat with folded arms and eyes cast down, looking very sad and abstracted.


When depressed, the very hue of his face seemed more dusk than when he smiled, and to-day cheek and forehead wore their most tintless and sober olive.


By instinct Caroline knew, as she examined that clouded countenance, that his thoughts were running in no familiar or kindly channel; that they were far away, not merely from her, but from all which she could comprehend, or in which she could sympathize.

By instinct Caroline knew that his thoughts were far away, not merely from her, but from all in which she could sympathize.


Nothing that they had ever talked of together was now in his mind: he was wrapt from her by interests and responsibilities in which it was deemed such as she could have no part.

He was wrapped up in responsibilities in which she could have no part.


Caroline meditated in her own way on the subject; speculated on his feelings, on his life, on his fears, on his fate; mused over the mystery of "business," tried to comprehend more about it than had ever been told her--to understand its perplexities, liabilities, duties, exactions; endeavoured to realize the state of mind of a "man of business," to enter into it, feel what he would feel, aspire to what he would aspire.

She speculated on his feelings, on his life, on his fears, on his fate; mused over the mystery of "business," tried to understand its perplexities and duties, and to enter into his state of mind, to feel what he would feel.


Her earnest wish was to see things as they were, and not to be romantic.

She wished earnestly to see things as they were, and not to be romantic.


By dint of effort she contrived to get a glimpse of the light of truth here and there, and hoped that scant ray might suffice to guide her.

By dint of effort she contrived to get a glimpse of the truth here and there.


"Different, indeed," she concluded, "is Robert's mental condition to mine.


I think only of him; he has no room, no leisure, to think of me.

I think only of him; he has no leisure to think of me.


The feeling called love is and has been for two years the predominant emotion of my heart--always there, always awake, always astir.

Love is the chief emotion of my heart - always there, always awake.


Quite other feelings absorb his reflections and govern his faculties.


He is rising now, going to leave the church, for service is over.

He is rising now to leave the church, for service is over.


A kind glance would have made me happy till to-morrow.

A kind glance would have made me happy till tomorrow.


I have not got it; he would not give it; he is gone.


Strange that grief should now almost choke me, because another human being's eye has failed to greet mine."

Strange that grief should now almost choke me, because another human's eye has failed to greet mine."


That Sunday evening, Mr. Malone coming, as usual, to pass it with his rector, Caroline withdrew after tea to her chamber. Fanny, knowing her habits, had lit her a cheerful little fire, as the weather was so gusty and chill.

That Sunday evening, when Mr. Malone came as usual to visit his rector, Caroline withdrew to her chamber, where Fanny had lit her a fire.


Closeted there, silent and solitary, what could she do but think?


She noiselessly paced to and fro the carpeted floor, her head drooped, her hands folded.

She noiselessly paced to and fro, her head drooped, her hands folded.


It was irksome to sit; the current of reflection ran rapidly through her mind; to-night she was mutely excited.


The double door of the study muffled the voices of the gentlemen.


The servants were quiet in the kitchen, engaged with books their young mistress had lent them--books which she had told them were "fit for Sunday reading." And she herself had another of the same sort open on the table, but she could not read it.

She had a religious book open on the table, but she could not read it.


Its theology was incomprehensible to her, and her own mind was too busy, teeming, wandering, to listen to the language of another mind.

Its theology was incomprehensible to her, and her own mind was too busy to listen to the language of another mind.


Then, too, her imagination was full of pictures--images of Moore, scenes where he and she had been together; winter fireside sketches; a glowing landscape of a hot summer afternoon passed with him in the bosom of Nunnely Wood; divine vignettes of mild spring or mellow autumn moments, when she had sat at his side in Hollow's Copse, listening to the call of the May cuckoo, or sharing the September treasure of nuts and ripe blackberries--a wild dessert which it was her morning's pleasure to collect in a little basket, and cover with green leaves and fresh blossoms, and her afternoon's delight to administer to Moore, berry by berry, and nut by nut, like a bird feeding its fledgling.

Her imagination was full of pictures - images of Moore, scenes where he and she had been together; winter fireside sketches; a hot summer afternoon in Nunnely Wood; mild spring or mellow autumn moments, when she had sat at his side in Hollow's Copse, listening to the call of the May cuckoo, or sharing the September treasure of nuts and blackberries.


Robert's features and form were with her; the sound of his voice was quite distinct in her ear; his few caresses seemed renewed.

Robert's face was with her; his voice was quite distinct in her ear; his few caresses seemed renewed.


But these joys, being hollow, were, ere long, crushed in.


The pictures faded, the voice failed, the visionary clasp melted chill from her hand, and where the warm seal of lips had made impress on her forehead, it felt now as if a sleety rain-drop had fallen.

But the pictures faded, the voice failed, and where the warm lips had made impress on her forehead, it felt now as if a cold raindrop had fallen.


She returned from an enchanted region to the real world: for Nunnely Wood in June she saw her narrow chamber; for the songs of birds in alleys she heard the rain on her casement; for the sigh of the south wind came the sob of the mournful east; and for Moore's manly companionship she had the thin illusion of her own dim shadow on the wall.

She returned to the real world: she saw her narrow chamber, and heard the rain on the window; for companionship she had own dim shadow on the wall.


Turning from the pale phantom which reflected herself in its outline, and her reverie in the drooped attitude of its dim head and colourless tresses, she sat down--inaction would suit the frame of mind into which she was now declining--she said to herself, "I have to live, perhaps, till seventy years.

Sitting down, she said to herself, "I have to live, perhaps, till I am seventy.


As far as I know, I have good health; half a century of existence may lie before me.

Half a century of existence may lie before me.


What am I to do to fill the interval of time which spreads between me and the grave?"

What am I to do to fill the time which spreads between me and the grave?"


"I shall not be married, it appears," she continued.


"I suppose, as Robert does not care for me, I shall never have a husband to love, nor little children to take care of.


Till lately I had reckoned securely on the duties and affections of wife and mother to occupy my existence. I considered, somehow, as a matter of course, that I was growing up to the ordinary destiny, and never troubled myself to seek any other; but now I perceive plainly I may have been mistaken.

Till lately I had reckoned securely on the duties and affections of wife and mother to occupy my existence; but now I perceive plainly I may have been mistaken.


I shall live to see Robert married to some one else, some rich lady.

I shall live to see Robert married to some rich lady.


I see," she pursued presently; "that is the question which most old maids are puzzled to solve.


Other people solve it for them by saying, 'Your place is to do good to others, to be helpful whenever help is wanted.'

Other people solve it for them by saying, 'Your place is to do good and help others.'


That is right in some measure, and a very convenient doctrine for the people who hold it; but I perceive that certain sets of human beings are very apt to maintain that other sets should give up their lives to them and their service, and then they requite them by praise; they call them devoted and virtuous.

That is right in some measure, and a very convenient doctrine for the people who hold it; but I perceive that certain sets of human beings are very apt to say that other sets should give up their lives to them, and then they reward them by calling them devoted and virtuous.


Is there not a terrible hollowness, mockery, want, craving, in that existence which is given away to others, for want of something of your own to bestow it on?

Is there not a terrible hollowness, mockery, want, in that existence which is given away to others?


Undue humility makes tyranny; weak concession creates selfishness. The Romish religion especially teaches renunciation of self, submission to others, and nowhere are found so many grasping tyrants as in the ranks of the Romish priesthood.

Undue humility creates tyranny in others; weak concession creates selfishness.


Each human being has his share of rights.


I suspect it would conduce to the happiness and welfare of all if each knew his allotment, and held to it as tenaciously as the martyr to his creed.


Queer thoughts these that surge in my mind.


Seventy years, they say, pass like a vapour, like a dream when one awaketh; and every path trod by human feet terminates in one bourne--the grave, the little chink in the surface of this great globe, the furrow where the mighty husbandman with the scythe deposits the seed he has shaken from the ripe stem; and there it falls, decays, and thence it springs again, when the world has rolled round a few times more.

Seventy years, they say, pass like a dream; and every path trod by human feet ends in the grave, the furrow where the mighty husbandman with the scythe sets the seed he has shaken from the ripe stem; there it falls, decays, and thence it springs again, when the world has rolled round a few times more.


The soul meantime wings its long flight upward, folds its wings on the brink of the sea of fire and glass, and gazing down through the burning clearness, finds there mirrored the vision of the Christian's triple Godhead--the sovereign Father, the mediating Son, the Creator Spirit.

The soul meantime wings its long flight upward, folds its wings on the brink of the sea of fire and glass, and gazing through the burning clearness, finds there mirrored the vision of the sovereign Father, the mediating Son, the Creator Spirit.


Such words, at least, have been chosen to express what is inexpressible, to describe what baffles description.

Such words, at least, have been chosen to express what is inexpressible.


The soul's real hereafter who shall guess?"


Her fire was decayed to its last cinder; Malone had departed; and now the study bell rang for prayers.

Her fire was out; the study bell rang for prayers.


The next day Caroline had to spend altogether alone, her uncle being gone to dine with his friend Dr. Boultby, vicar of Whinbury.

The next day Caroline had to spend alone, since her uncle was dining with Dr. Boultby, vicar of Whinbury.


The whole time she was talking inwardly in the same strain--looking forwards, asking what she was to do with life.

The whole time she talked inwardly in the same way, asking what she was to do with life.


Fanny, as she passed in and out of the room occasionally, intent on housemaid errands, perceived that her young mistress sat very still. She was always in the same place, always bent industriously over a piece of work.

Fanny, passing in and out of the room on housemaid errands, perceived that her young mistress sat very still, always in the same place, always bent over a piece of work.


She did not lift her head to speak to Fanny, as her custom was; and when the latter remarked that the day was fine, and she ought to take a walk, she only said, "It is cold."

She did not lift her head to speak to Fanny as usual, and when Fanny remarked that the day was fine, and that she ought to take a walk, she only said, "It is cold."


"You are very diligent at that sewing, Miss Caroline," continued the girl, approaching her little table.

"You are very diligent at that sewing, Miss Caroline."


Me and Eliza are company for one another; but you are quite too still.

Me and Eliza are company for one another; but you are too still.


Now, be persuaded: go upstairs and dress yourself smart, and go and take tea, in a friendly way, with Miss Mann or Miss Ainley.

Go upstairs and dress yourself smart, and go and take tea with Miss Mann or Miss Ainley.


I am certain either of those ladies would be delighted to see you."


"But their houses are dismal: they are both old maids.


I am certain old maids are a very unhappy race."


They can't be unhappy; they take such care of themselves.


How devotedly kind she was to her step-mother as long as the old lady lived; and now when she is quite alone in the world, without brother or sister, or any one to care for her, how charitable she is to the poor, as far as her means permit!

How devotedly kind she was to her step-mother while the old lady lived; and now when she is quite alone in the world, how charitable she is to the poor, as far as her means permit!


Still nobody thinks much of her, or has pleasure in going to see her; and how gentlemen always sneer at her!"

Still nobody thinks much of her; and gentlemen always sneer at her!"


But gentlemen think only of ladies' looks."


"I'll go and see her," exclaimed Caroline, starting up; "and if she asks me to stay to tea, I'll stay.


How wrong it is to neglect people because they are not pretty, and young, and merry!

How wrong it is to neglect people because they are not pretty and young!


And I will certainly call to see Miss Mann too.


She may not be amiable, but what has made her unamiable?


Fanny helped Miss Helstone to put away her work, and afterwards assisted her to dress.


"_You_'ll not be an old maid, Miss Caroline," she said, as she tied the sash of her brown silk frock, having previously smoothed her soft, full, and shining curls; "there are no signs of an old maid about you."

"You'll not be an old maid, Miss Caroline," she said, as she tied the sash of her brown silk frock, and smoothed her shining curls; "there are no signs of an old maid about you."


Caroline looked at the little mirror before her, and she thought there were some signs.


She could see that she was altered within the last month; that the hues of her complexion were paler, her eyes changed--a wan shade seemed to circle them; her countenance was dejected--she was not, in short, so pretty or so fresh as she used to be.

She could see that she had altered within the last month; her complexion was paler, her eyes were circled with shadow; she was not so pretty or so fresh as she used to be.


She distantly hinted this to Fanny, from whom she got no direct answer, only a remark that people did vary in their looks, but that at her age a little falling away signified nothing; she would soon come round again, and be plumper and rosier than ever.

She hinted this to Fanny, who answered that at her age a little falling away signified nothing; she would soon come round again, and be rosier than ever.


Having given this assurance, Fanny showed singular zeal in wrapping her up in warm shawls and handkerchiefs, till Caroline, nearly smothered with the weight, was fain to resist further additions.

Fanny then showed singular zeal in wrapping her up in warm shawls, till Caroline was smothered with the weight.


She paid her visits--first to Miss Mann, for this was the most difficult point.

She paid her visits - first to Miss Mann, for this was the most difficult point.


Miss Mann was certainly not quite a lovable person.


Till now, Caroline had always unhesitatingly declared she disliked her, and more than once she had joined her cousin Robert in laughing at some of her peculiarities.

Caroline had always declared she disliked her, and more than once she had joined her cousin Robert in laughing at her.


Moore was not habitually given to sarcasm, especially on anything humbler or weaker than himself; but he had once or twice happened to be in the room when Miss Mann had made a call on his sister, and after listening to her conversation and viewing her features for a time, he had gone out into the garden where his little cousin was tending some of his favourite flowers, and while standing near and watching her he had amused himself with comparing fair youth, delicate and attractive, with shrivelled eld, livid and loveless, and in jestingly repeating to a smiling girl the vinegar discourse of a cankered old maid.

Moore was not usually sarcastic, especially about people weaker than himself; but he had once or twice been present when Miss Mann had visited his sister, and after a while he had gone out into the garden where Caroline was tending flowers. While watching her he had amused himself with comparing fair, delicate youth with shrivelled age, livid and loveless, and had repeated to the smiling girl the vinegar discourse of the sour old maid.


Once on such an occasion Caroline had said to him, looking up from the luxuriant creeper she was binding to its frame, "Ah!


I, too, should come under the lash of your sarcasm if I were an old maid."


"A piquant notion suggested by lips of that tint and form.


I can fancy you, though, at forty, quietly dressed, pale and sunk, but still with that straight nose, white forehead, and those soft eyes.

I can imagine you, though, at forty, quietly dressed, pale and sunk, but still with those soft eyes.


I suppose, too, you will keep your voice, which has another 'timbre' than that hard, deep organ of Miss Mann's.

I suppose, too, you will keep your voice, unlike that hard, deep voice of Miss Mann's.


Even at fifty you will not be repulsive."


"Miss Mann did not make herself, or tune her voice, Robert."

"Miss Mann did not make herself, or her voice, Robert."


"Nature made her in the mood in which she makes her briars and thorns; whereas for the creation of some women she reserves the May morning hours, when with light and dew she wooes the primrose from the turf and the lily from the wood-moss."

"Nature made her in the mood in which she makes briars and thorns; whereas for the creation of some women she reserves the May morning hours, when she makes the primrose and the lily."


Ushered into Miss Mann's little parlour, Caroline found her, as she always found her, surrounded by perfect neatness, cleanliness, and comfort (after all, is it not a virtue in old maids that solitude rarely makes them negligent or disorderly?)--no dust on her polished furniture, none on her carpet, fresh flowers in the vase on her table, a bright fire in the grate. She herself sat primly and somewhat grimly-tidy in a cushioned rocking-chair, her hands busied with some knitting.

Today, ushered into Miss Mann's little parlour, Caroline found her surrounded by perfect neatness, cleanliness, and comfort, with fresh flowers in the vase on the table, and a bright fire in the grate. Miss Mann herself sat primly and somewhat grimly in a rocking-chair, knitting.


This was her favourite work, as it required the least exertion.


To avoid excitement was one of Miss Mann's aims in life.


She had been composing herself ever since she came down in the morning, and had just attained a certain lethargic state of tranquillity when the visitor's knock at the door startled her, and undid her day's work.

She had been composing herself ever since she came down in the morning, and had just attained a state of tranquillity when the visitor's knock at the door startled her.


She was scarcely pleased, therefore, to see Miss Helstone.

She was not pleased, therefore, to see Miss Helstone.


She received her with reserve, bade her be seated with austerity, and when she got her placed opposite, she fixed her with her eye.

She received her with reserve, bade her be seated with austerity, and then fixed her with her eye.


This was no ordinary doom--to be fixed with Miss Mann's eye.

This was no ordinary doom - to be fixed with Miss Mann's eye.


Robert Moore had undergone it once, and had never forgotten the circumstance.

Robert Moore had undergone it once, and had never forgotten it.


He considered it quite equal to anything Medusa could do.


He professed to doubt whether, since that infliction, his flesh had been quite what it was before--whether there was not something stony in its texture.


The gaze had had such an effect on him as to drive him promptly from the apartment and house; it had even sent him straightway up to the rectory, where he had appeared in Caroline's presence with a very queer face, and amazed her by demanding a cousinly salute on the spot, to rectify a damage that had been done him.


Certainly Miss Mann had a formidable eye for one of the softer sex.

Certainly Miss Mann had a formidable eye.


It was prominent, and showed a great deal of the white, and looked as steadily, as unwinkingly, at you as if it were a steel ball soldered in her head; and when, while looking, she began to talk in an indescribably dry, monotonous tone--a tone without vibration or inflection--you felt as if a graven image of some bad spirit were addressing you.

It was prominent, and showed a great deal of the white, and looked as unwinkingly at you as if it were a steel ball soldered in her head; and when she began to talk in her dry, monotonous tone, you felt as if a graven image of some bad spirit were addressing you.


But it was all a figment of fancy, a matter of surface.


Miss Mann's goblin grimness scarcely went deeper than the angel sweetness of hundreds of beauties.


She was a perfectly honest, conscientious woman, who had performed duties in her day from whose severe anguish many a human Peri, gazelle-eyed, silken-tressed, and silver-tongued, would have shrunk appalled.

She was a perfectly honest, conscientious woman, who had performed duties in her day from whose severe anguish many a gazelle-eyed enchantress would have shrunk appalled.


She had passed alone through protracted scenes of suffering, exercised rigid self-denial, made large sacrifices of time, money, health for those who had repaid her only by ingratitude, and now her main--almost her sole--fault was that she was censorious.

She had passed alone through long scenes of suffering, exercised rigid self-denial, sacrificed her time, money and health for those who had repaid her by ingratitude; and now her main - almost her sole - fault was that she was censorious.


Caroline had not sat five minutes ere her hostess, still keeping her under the spell of that dread and Gorgon gaze, began flaying alive certain of the families in the neighbourhood.

Caroline had not sat five minutes before her hostess, still keeping her under the spell of that Gorgon gaze, began flaying alive certain families in the neighbourhood.


She went to work at this business in a singularly cool, deliberate manner, like some surgeon practising with his scalpel on a lifeless subject.

She went about this in a cool, deliberate manner.


She made few distinctions; she allowed scarcely any one to be good; she dissected impartially almost all her acquaintance.


If her auditress ventured now and then to put in a palliative word she set it aside with a certain disdain.

If Caroline ventured to put in a softening word she set it aside with disdain.


Still, though thus pitiless in moral anatomy, she was no scandal-monger.

Still, though pitiless, she was no scandal-monger.


She never disseminated really malignant or dangerous reports.

She never spread malignant or dangerous reports.


It was not her heart so much as her temper that was wrong.


Caroline made this discovery for the first time to-day, and moved thereby to regret divers unjust judgments she had more than once passed on the crabbed old maid, she began to talk to her softly, not in sympathizing words, but with a sympathizing voice.

Caroline made this discovery for the first time today, and began to talk to her softly, not in sympathizing words, but with a sympathizing voice.


The loneliness of her condition struck her visitor in a new light, as did also the character of her ugliness--a bloodless pallor of complexion, and deeply worn lines of feature.

Miss Mann's loneliness struck her in a new light, as did the character of her ugliness - a bloodless pallor, and deeply lined face.


The girl pitied the solitary and afflicted woman; her looks told what she felt. A sweet countenance is never so sweet as when the moved heart animates it with compassionate tenderness. Miss Mann, seeing such a countenance raised to her, was touched in her turn.

The girl pitied her; and her tenderness touched Miss Mann in her turn.


She acknowledged her sense of the interest thus unexpectedly shown in her, who usually met with only coldness and ridicule, by replying to her candidly.


Communicative on her own affairs she usually was not, because no one cared to listen to her; but to-day she became so, and her confidante shed tears as she heard her speak, for she told of cruel, slow-wasting, obstinate sufferings.

She did not usually talk about her own affairs, because no one cared to listen; but today she did, and Caroline shed tears as she heard her speak of cruel, slow-wasting sufferings.


Well might she be corpse-like; well might she look grim, and never smile; well might she wish to avoid excitement, to gain and retain composure!

Well might she be corpse-like, and never smile; well might she wish to avoid excitement!


Caroline, when she knew all, acknowledged that Miss Mann was rather to be admired for fortitude than blamed for moroseness.


when you behold an aspect for whose constant gloom and frown you cannot account, whose unvarying cloud exasperates you by its apparent causelessness, be sure that there is a canker somewhere, and a canker not the less deeply corroding because concealed.


Miss Mann felt that she was understood partly, and wished to be understood further; for, however old, plain, humble, desolate, afflicted we may be, so long as our hearts preserve the feeblest spark of life, they preserve also, shivering near that pale ember, a starved, ghostly longing for appreciation and affection.

Miss Mann felt that she was partly understood, and wished to be understood further; for however old, plain and desolate we may be, our hearts preserve still a starved, ghostly longing for appreciation and affection.


To this extenuated spectre, perhaps, a crumb is not thrown once a year, but when ahungered and athirst to famine--when all humanity has forgotten the dying tenant of a decaying house--Divine mercy remembers the mourner, and a shower of manna falls for lips that earthly nutriment is to pass no more.


Biblical promises, heard first in health, but then unheeded, come whispering to the couch of sickness; it is felt that a pitying God watches what all mankind have forsaken.


The tender compassion of Jesus is recalled and relied on; the faded eye, gazing beyond time, sees a home, a friend, a refuge in eternity.


Miss Mann, drawn on by the still attention of her listener, proceeded to allude to circumstances in her past life. She spoke like one who tells the truth--simply, and with a certain reserve; she did not boast, nor did she exaggerate.

Miss Mann, drawn on by her listener's attention, spoke of her past life simply; she did not boast, nor exaggerate.


Caroline found that the old maid had been a most devoted daughter and sister, an unwearied watcher by lingering deathbeds; that to prolonged and unrelaxing attendance on the sick the malady that now poisoned her own life owed its origin; that to one wretched relative she had been a support and succour in the depths of self-earned degradation, and that it was still her hand which kept him from utter destitution.

Caroline found that the old maid had been a devoted daughter and sister, an unwearied watcher by lingering deathbeds; her malady owed its origin to that long attendance on the sick. To one wretched relative she had been a support in the depths of degradation, and she still kept him from utter destitution.


Miss Helstone stayed the whole evening, omitting to pay her other intended visit; and when she left Miss Mann it was with the determination to try in future to excuse her faults; never again to make light of her peculiarities or to laugh at her plainness; and, above all things, not to neglect her, but to come once a week, and to offer her, from one human heart at least, the homage of affection and respect.

Miss Helstone stayed the whole evening; and when she left Miss Mann it was with the determination to try in future to excuse her faults; never again to laugh at her; and, above all, not to neglect her, but to come once a week, and offer her sincere affection and respect.


She felt she could now sincerely give her a small tribute of each feeling.


Caroline, on her return, told Fanny she was very glad she had gone out, as she felt much better for the visit.


The next day she failed not to seek Miss Ainley.

The next day she sought out Miss Ainley.


This lady was in narrower circumstances than Miss Mann, and her dwelling was more humble.

This lady was poorer than Miss Mann, and her dwelling was more humble.


It was, however, if possible, yet more exquisitely clean, though the decayed gentlewoman could not afford to keep a servant, but waited on herself, and had only the occasional assistance of a little girl who lived in a cottage near.

It was, however, if possible, yet more exquisitely clean, though Miss Ainley could not afford to keep a servant.


Not only was Miss Ainley poorer, but she was even plainer than the other old maid. In her first youth she must have been ugly; now, at the age of fifty, she was _very_ ugly.


At first sight, all but peculiarly well-disciplined minds were apt to turn from her with annoyance, to conceive against her a prejudice, simply on the ground of her unattractive look.

At first sight, all but very well-disciplined minds were apt to be prejudiced against her, simply on the ground of her unattractiveness.


Then she was prim in dress and manner; she looked, spoke, and moved the complete old maid.

Then she was prim in dress and manner; she looked the complete old maid.


Her welcome to Caroline was formal, even in its kindness--for it was kind; but Miss Helstone excused this. She knew something of the benevolence of the heart which beat under that starched kerchief; all the neighbourhood--at least all the female neighbourhood--knew something of it.

Her welcome to Caroline was formal, though kind; but Miss Helstone knew something of the benevolence of Miss Ainley's heart; all the female neighbourhood knew something of it.


No one spoke against Miss Ainley except lively young gentlemen and inconsiderate old ones, who declared her hideous.

No one spoke against Miss Ainley, except lively young gentlemen and inconsiderate old ones, who declared her hideous.


Caroline was soon at home in that tiny parlour. A kind hand took from her her shawl and bonnet, and installed her in the most comfortable seat near the fire.

Caroline was soon at home in that tiny parlour, installed in the most comfortable seat near the fire.


The young and the antiquated woman were presently deep in kindly conversation, and soon Caroline became aware of the power a most serene, unselfish, and benignant mind could exercise over those to whom it was developed.

The young and the old woman were presently deep in kindly conversation, and Caroline became aware of the power of an unselfish and benign mind.


She talked never of herself, always of others. Their faults she passed over. Her theme was their wants, which she sought to supply; their sufferings, which she longed to alleviate.

Miss Ainley talked never of herself, always of others: and not of their faults, but their wants and sufferings, which she longed to alleviate.


She was religious, a professor of religion--what some would call "a saint;" and she referred to religion often in sanctioned phrase--in phrase which those who possess a perception of the ridiculous, without owning the power of exactly testing and truly judging character, would certainly have esteemed a proper subject for satire, a matter for mimicry and laughter.

She was religious, and spoke of religion often in a way which some people would have enjoyed ridiculing.


They would have been hugely mistaken for their pains.


Sincerity is never ludicrous; it is always respectable.

Sincerity is never ludicrous; it is always to be respected.


Whether truth--be it religious or moral truth--speak eloquently and in well-chosen language or not, its voice should be heard with reverence.


Let those who cannot nicely, and with certainty, discern the difference between the tones of hypocrisy and those of sincerity, never presume to laugh at all, lest they should have the miserable misfortune to laugh in the wrong place, and commit impiety when they think they are achieving wit.


Not from Miss Ainley's own lips did Caroline hear of her good works, but she knew much of them nevertheless. Her beneficence was the familiar topic of the poor in Briarfield.

Not from Miss Ainley's own lips did Caroline hear of her good works, but she knew much of them nevertheless, from the poor in Briarfield.


The old maid was too poor to give much, though she straitened herself to privation that she might contribute her mite when needful.


They were the works of a Sister of Charity--far more difficult to perform than those of a Lady Bountiful.

They were the works of a Sister of Charity - far more difficult to perform than those of a Lady Bountiful.


She would watch by any sick-bed; she seemed to fear no disease.


She would nurse the poorest whom none else would nurse.

She would nurse the poorest whom no one else would nurse.


She was serene, humble, kind, and equable through everything.


For this goodness she got but little reward in this life.

For this goodness she got little reward.


Many of the poor became so accustomed to her services that they hardly thanked her for them.

Many of the poor became so accustomed to her services that they hardly thanked her.


The rich heard them mentioned with wonder, but were silent, from a sense of shame at the difference between her sacrifices and their own.

The rich heard of them with wonder, but were silent, from a sense of shame at the difference between her sacrifices and their own.


Many ladies, however, respected her deeply.


One gentleman--one only--gave her his friendship and perfect confidence.

One gentleman - one only - gave her his friendship and perfect confidence.


This was Mr. Hall, the vicar of Nunnely. He said, and said truly, that her life came nearer the life of Christ than that of any other human being he had ever met with.

This was Mr. Hall, the vicar of Nunnely, who said that her life came nearer the life of Christ than that of any other human being he had ever met.


You must not think, reader, that in sketching Miss Ainley's character I depict a figment of imagination.

You must not think, reader, that Miss Ainley's character is a figment of imagination.


We seek the originals of such portraits in real life only.


Miss Helstone studied well the mind and heart now revealed to her.


She found no high intellect to admire--the old maid was merely sensible--but she discovered so much goodness, so much usefulness, so much mildness, patience, truth, that she bent her own mind before Miss Ainley's in reverence.

She found no high intellect - the old maid was merely sensible - but she discovered so much goodness, usefulness, mildness, patience, truth, that she revered Miss Ainley.


What was her love of nature, what was her sense of beauty, what were her more varied and fervent emotions, what was her deeper power of thought, what her wider capacity to comprehend, compared to the practical excellence of this good woman?

What was her own love of nature, her sense of beauty, her fervent emotions, compared to the practical excellence of this good woman?


Momently, they seemed only beautiful forms of selfish delight; mentally, she trod them under foot.


It is true she still felt with pain that the life which made Miss Ainley happy could not make her happy.


Pure and active as it was, in her heart she deemed it deeply dreary, because it was so loveless--to her ideas, so forlorn.

Active as it was, it seemed deeply dreary, because it was so loveless.


Yet, doubtless, she reflected, it needed only habit to make it practicable and agreeable to any one.

Yet, doubtless, it needed only habit to make it practicable.


It was despicable, she felt, to pine sentimentally, to cherish secret griefs, vain memories, to be inert, to waste youth in aching languor, to grow old doing nothing.

Caroline felt it was despicable to pine sentimentally, to waste youth in aching languor, to grow old doing nothing.


"I will bestir myself," was her resolution, "and try to be wise if I cannot be good."


She proceeded to make inquiry of Miss Ainley if she could help her in anything.

She proceeded to ask Miss Ainley if she could help her in anything.


Miss Ainley, glad of an assistant, told her that she could, and indicated some poor families in Briarfield that it was desirable she should visit, giving her likewise, at her further request, some work to do for certain poor women who had many children, and who were unskilled in using the needle for themselves.

Miss Ainley told her of some poor families in Briarfield that she could visit, and gave her some needlework to do for certain poor women who had many children, and who were unskilled with the needle.


Caroline went home, laid her plans, and took a resolve not to swerve from them.


She allotted a certain portion of her time for her various studies, and a certain portion for doing anything Miss Ainley might direct her to do.

She allotted a portion of her time for her studies, and a portion for doing anything Miss Ainley might direct her to do.


The remainder was to be spent in exercise; not a moment was to be left for the indulgence of such fevered thoughts as had poisoned last Sunday evening.


To do her justice, she executed her plans conscientiously, perseveringly.

To do her justice, she carried out her plans perseveringly.


It was very hard work at first--it was even hard work to the end--but it helped her to stem and keep down anguish; it forced her to be employed; it forbade her to brood; and gleams of satisfaction chequered her gray life here and there when she found she had done good, imparted pleasure, or allayed suffering.

It was very hard work at first, but it helped her to keep down anguish; it forced her to be busy; it forbade her to brood; and gleams of satisfaction chequered her grey life here and there when she found she had done some good.


These efforts brought her neither health of body nor continued peace of mind.

These efforts brought her neither health of body nor peace of mind.


With them all she wasted, grew more joyless and more wan; with them all her memory kept harping on the name of Robert Moore; an elegy over the past still rung constantly in her ear; a funereal inward cry haunted and harassed her; the heaviness of a broken spirit, and of pining and palsying faculties, settled slow on her buoyant youth.

She grew more joyless and more wan; her memory kept harping on the name of Robert Moore; an elegy over the past still rung constantly in her ear; the heaviness of a broken spirit settled slow on her buoyant youth.


Winter seemed conquering her spring; the mind's soil and its treasures were freezing gradually to barren stagnation.


Martin, having known the taste of excitement, wanted a second draught; having felt the dignity of power, he loathed to relinquish it.

Martin, having tasted excitement and power, wanted more.

Chapter 34: CASE OF DOMESTIC PERSECUTION - REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF PIOUS PERSEVERANCE IN THE DISCHARGE OF RELIGIOUS DUTIES


Miss Helstone--that girl he had always called ugly, and whose face was now perpetually before his eyes, by day and by night, in dark and in sunshine--had once come within his sphere.

Miss Helstone - that girl he had always called ugly, and whose face was now perpetually before him - had come within his sphere.


It fretted him to think the visit might never be repeated.


Though a schoolboy he was no ordinary schoolboy; he was destined to grow up an original.

Martin was no ordinary schoolboy; he was destined to grow up an original.


At a few years' later date he took great pains to pare and polish himself down to the pattern of the rest of the world, but he never succeeded; an unique stamp marked him always.

A few years later he took great pains to pare and polish himself down to the pattern of the rest of the world, but he never succeeded.


He now sat idle at his desk in the grammar school, casting about in his mind for the means of adding another chapter to his commenced romance.

He now cast about in his mind for the means of adding another chapter to his romance.


He did not yet know how many commenced life-romances are doomed never to get beyond the first, or at most the second chapter.

He did not yet know how many life-romances are doomed never to get beyond the first or second chapter.


His Saturday half-holiday he spent in the wood with his book of fairy legends, and that other unwritten book of his imagination.


Martin harboured an irreligious reluctance to see the approach of Sunday.

He had an irreligious dislike of Sunday.


His father and mother, while disclaiming community with the Establishment, failed not duly, once on the sacred day, to fill their large pew in Briarfield Church with the whole of their blooming family.

His father and mother never failed to fill their large pew in Briarfield Church with their whole family.


Theoretically, Mr. Yorke placed all sects and churches on a level.


Mrs. Yorke awarded the palm to Moravians and Quakers, on account of that crown of humility by these worthies worn.


Neither of them were ever known, however, to set foot in a conventicle.


Martin, I say, disliked Sunday, because the morning service was long, and the sermon usually little to his taste.

The morning service was long, and the sermon usually little to Martin's taste.


This Saturday afternoon, however, his woodland musings disclosed to him a new-found charm in the coming day.


It proved a day of deep snow--so deep that Mrs. Yorke during breakfast announced her conviction that the children, both boys and girls, would be better at home; and her decision that, instead of going to church, they should sit silent for two hours in the back parlour, while Rose and Martin alternately read a succession of sermons--John Wesley's "Sermons."

It proved a day of deep snow - so deep that during breakfast Mrs. Yorke announced that the children, instead of going to church, should sit silent for two hours in the parlour, while Rose and Martin read John Wesley's "Sermons".


John Wesley, being a reformer and an agitator, had a place both in her own and her husband's favour.


"Rose will do as she pleases," said Martin, not looking up from the book which, according to his custom then and in after-life, he was studying over his bread and milk.

"Rose will do as she pleases," said Martin, not looking up from his book.


"Rose will do as she is told, and Martin too," observed the mother.

"Rose will do as she is told, and Martin too," said the mother.


So her son replied, with the ineffable quietude of a true Yorke, who knows his will and means to have it, and who, if pushed to the wall, will let himself be crushed to death, provided no way of escape can be found, but will never capitulate.

So her son replied quietly, like a true Yorke, who knows his will and means to have it.


"It is not fit weather," said the father.


The youth read studiously; he slowly broke his bread and sipped his milk.


"Martin hates to go to church, but he hates still more to obey," said Mrs. Yorke.


"I suppose I am influenced by pure perverseness?"
"Yes, you are."
"Mother, _I am not_."
"By what, then, are you influenced?"
"By a complication of motives, the intricacies of which I should as soon think of explaining to you as I should of turning myself inside out to exhibit the internal machinery of my frame."

"I am not influenced by pure perverseness, but by a complication of motives, the intricacies of which I should as soon think of explaining to you as I should of turning myself inside out to exhibit the internal machinery of my frame."


"I must see and have this lad of mine brought up to the bar.

"I must have this lad of mine brought up to be a lawyer.


Hesther, your third son must certainly be a lawyer; he has the stock-in-trade--brass, self-conceit, and words--words--words."

He has the self-conceit, and words - words - words."


"Some bread, Rose, if you please," requested Martin, with intense gravity, serenity, phlegm.

"Some bread, Rose, if you please," requested Martin with intense gravity.


The boy had naturally a low, plaintive voice, which in his "dour moods" rose scarcely above a lady's whisper.


The more inflexibly stubborn the humour, the softer, the sadder the tone.


He rang the bell, and gently asked for his walking-shoes.


"But, Martin," urged his sire, "there is drift all the way; a man could hardly wade through it.

"But, Martin," urged his father, "there are snowdrifts all the way; a man could hardly wade through.


However, lad," he continued, seeing that the boy rose as the church bell began to toll, "this is a case wherein I would by no means balk the obdurate chap of his will. Go to church by all means.

However, lad, go to church by all means.


There is a pitiless wind, and a sharp, frozen sleet, besides the depth under foot.

There is a pitiless wind, and a sharp, frozen sleet.


Go out into it, since thou prefers it to a warm fireside."


Martin quietly assumed his cloak, comforter, and cap, and deliberately went out.

Martin quietly put on his cloak, scarf and cap, and went out.


"My father has more sense than my mother," he pronounced.


"How women miss it! They drive the nail into the flesh, thinking they are hammering away at insensate stone."


"Now, if the weather frightens her (and it is a real December tempest), or if that Mrs. Pryor objects to her going out, and I should miss her after all, it will vex me; but, tempest or tornado, hail or ice, she _ought_ to come, and if she has a mind worthy of her eyes and features she _will_ come.

"Now, if the weather frightens her, or if that Mrs. Pryor objects to her going out, it will vex me; but, hail or ice, she ought to come.


She will be here for the chance of seeing me, as I am here for the chance of seeing her.


She will want to get a word respecting her confounded sweetheart, as I want to get another flavour of what I think the essence of life--a taste of existence, with the spirit preserved in it, and not evaporated.

She will want to get a word about her confounded sweetheart, as I want to get another taste of adventure."


Adventure is to stagnation what champagne is to flat porter."


He looked round. The church was cold, silent, empty, but for one old woman.

He looked round at the cold, empty church.


As the chimes subsided and the single bell tolled slowly, another and another elderly parishioner came dropping in, and took a humble station in the free sittings.

As the bell tolled slowly, elderly parishioners came in, and took the humblest seats.


It is always the frailest, the oldest, and the poorest that brave the worst weather, to prove and maintain their constancy to dear old mother church.

It is always the frailest, the oldest, and poorest that brave the worst weather to attend church.


This wild morning not one affluent family attended, not one carriage party appeared--all the lined and cushioned pews were empty; only on the bare oaken seats sat ranged the gray-haired elders and feeble paupers.

This wild morning not one affluent family appeared: all the cushioned pews were empty; only on the bare oak seats sat the grey-haired elders and paupers.


"I'll scorn her if she doesn't come," muttered Martin, shortly and savagely, to himself.

"I'll scorn her if she doesn't come," muttered Martin savagely to himself.


The rector's shovel-hat had passed the porch.


Mr. Helstone and his clerk were in the vestry.


The bells ceased--the reading-desk was filled--the doors were closed--the service commenced.

The bells ceased - the doors were closed - the service began.


Void stood the rectory pew--she was not there.


Like all other girls--weakly, selfish, shallow!"

Like all girls - weakly, selfish, shallow!


Her eyes are not large and expressive; her nose is not straight, delicate, Hellenic; her mouth has not that charm I thought it had, which I imagined could beguile me of sullenness in my worst moods.

Her eyes are not large and expressive; her mouth has not that charm I thought it had.


A thread-paper, a doll, a toy, a _girl_, in short."

A thread-paper, a doll, a toy; a girl, in short."


So absorbed was the young cynic he forgot to rise from his knees at the proper place, and was still in an exemplary attitude of devotion when, the litany over, the first hymn was given out.

So absorbed was the young cynic he forgot to rise from his knees at the proper place.


To be so caught did not contribute to soothe him.


He started up red (for he was as sensitive to ridicule as any girl).

He started up red (for he was sensitive to ridicule).


To make the matter worse, the church door had reopened, and the aisles were filling: patter, patter, patter, a hundred little feet trotted in.


According to Briarfield winter custom, these children had till now been kept where there was a warm stove, and only led into church just before the communion and sermon.


The little ones were settled first, and at last, when the boys and the younger girls were all arranged--when the organ was swelling high, and the choir and congregation were rising to uplift a spiritual song--a tall class of young women came quietly in, closing the procession.

The little ones were settled first, and at last a tall class of young women came quietly in, closing the procession.


Their teacher, having seen them seated, passed into the rectory pew.


The French-gray cloak and small beaver bonnet were known to Martin; it was the very costume his eyes had ached to catch.

The French-grey cloak was known to Martin.


Miss Helstone had not suffered the storm to prove an impediment. After all, she was come to church.

Miss Helstone had come to church in the storm after all.


Martin probably whispered his satisfaction to his hymn book; at any rate, he therewith hid his face two minutes.

Martin probably whispered his satisfaction to his hymn book; at any rate, he hid his face there for two minutes.


Satisfied or not, he had time to get very angry with her again before the sermon was over.

Satisfied or not, he had time to get angry with her again before the sermon was over.


She had never once looked his way; at least he had not been so lucky as to encounter a glance.


"If," he said--"if she takes no notice of me, if she shows I am not in her thoughts, I shall have a worse, a meaner opinion of her than ever.

"If she takes no notice of me, I shall have a worse opinion of her than ever.


Most despicable would it be to come for the sake of those sheep-faced Sunday scholars, and not for my sake or that long skeleton Moore's."

It would be despicable of her just to come for the sake of those sheep-faced Sunday scholars."


The sermon found an end; the benediction was pronounced; the congregation dispersed.

The sermon ended; the congregation dispersed.


Now, indeed, as Martin set his face homeward, he felt that the sleet was sharp and the east wind cold.


His nearest way lay through some fields.

His nearest way lay through some untrodden fields.


It was a dangerous, because an untrodden way.


Near the second stile rose a clump of trees.


Yes, an umbrella, held with evident difficulty against the blast; behind it fluttered a French-gray cloak.

Yes, an umbrella, held with difficulty against the blast; behind it fluttered a French-grey cloak.


Martin grinned as he toiled up the steep, encumbered field, difficult to the foot as a slope in the upper realms of Etna.

Martin grinned as he toiled up the steep field.


There was an inimitable look in his face when, having gained the stile, he seated himself coolly thereupon, and thus opened a conference which, for his own part, he was willing to prolong indefinitely.

He seated himself coolly upon the stile, and said:


"I think you had better strike a bargain.


"I was not sure whether you would come this way, Martin, but I thought I would run the chance.

"I hoped you would come this way, Martin.


There is no such thing as getting a quiet word spoken in the church or churchyard."

There is no chance of getting a quiet word spoken in the church or churchyard."


"Will you agree?--make over Mrs. Pryor to my mother, and put me in her skirts?"

"Will you agree? Exchange me for Mrs. Pryor?"


"Not possible--or so inefficient, so careless a mamma; I should make a five times better one.

She is so careless a mamma, I should be five times better.


Your teeth--I hate ugly teeth; but yours are as pretty as a pearl necklace, and a necklace of which the pearls are very fair, even, and well matched too."

You have pretty teeth, as pretty as a pearl necklace."


I thought the Yorkes never paid compliments?"


"They have not done till this generation; but I feel as if it were my vocation to turn out a new variety of the Yorke species.

"They have not done till now; but I feel I should start a new variety of the Yorke species.


We have traditions going back for four ages--tales of Hiram, which was the son of Hiram, which was the son of Samuel, which was the son of John, which was the son of Zerubbabel Yorke.


All, from Zerubbabel down to the last Hiram, were such as you see my father.


We have his picture; it hangs in Moore's bedroom; it is like me.


Of his character we know nothing; but I am sure it was different to his descendants.


He has long, curling dark hair; he is carefully and cavalierly dressed.


Having said that he is like me, I need not add that he is handsome."


"No; but wait awhile--just let me take my time.


I mean to begin from this day to cultivate, to polish, and we shall see."


"You are a very strange, a very unaccountable boy, Martin.

"You are a very strange, unaccountable boy, Martin."


But don't imagine you ever will be handsome; you cannot."


But we were talking about Mrs. Pryor. She must be the most unnatural mamma in existence, coolly to let her daughter come out in this weather.

"But Mrs. Pryor must be the most unnatural mamma in existence, to let her daughter come out in this weather."


Mine was in such a rage because I would go to church; she was fit to fling the kitchen brush after me."


"Mamma was very much concerned about me; but I am afraid I was obstinate.

"Mamma was very much concerned about me; but I was obstinate.


"To see me?"
"Exactly; I thought of nothing else.

I thought of nothing else but seeing you.


I greatly feared the snow would hinder you from coming.


You don't know how pleased I was to see you all by yourself in the pew."

You don't know how pleased I was to see you by yourself in the pew."


"_I_ came to fulfil my duty, and set the parish a good example.

"I came to set the parish a good example.


I should like to see you obstinate, I should.


Wouldn't I have you in good discipline if I owned you?


"I can't stay two minutes; our dinner will be ready."


"And so will ours; and we have always a hot dinner on Sundays.


Roast goose to-day, with apple-pie and rice-pudding. I always contrive to know the bill of fare. Well, I like these things uncommonly; but I'll make the sacrifice, if you will."

Roast goose today, with apple-pie and rice-pudding; but I'll make the sacrifice, if you will."


"We have a cold dinner. My uncle will allow no unnecessary cooking on the Sabbath.


But I must return; the house would be in commotion if I failed to appear."


I think I hear my father sending out the overlooker and five of the dyers, to look in six directions for the body of his prodigal son in the snow; and my mother repenting her of her many misdeeds towards me, now I am gone."


"_That_ is what you came for, just to say that word."


he is no worse; but as ill-used as ever--mewed up, kept in solitary confinement.

he is no worse; but as ill-used as ever - kept in solitary confinement.


They mean to make either an idiot or a maniac of him, and take out a commission of lunacy.


Horsfall starves him; you saw how thin he was."


"You were very good the other day, Martin."


"I see what you are after; but you'll not wheedle me--I am no cat's-paw."

"I see what you are after; but you'll not wheedle me.


It is quite a right thing, and a necessary thing."


Remember, I managed the matter of my own free will before."


The business gave me far too much trouble."


"Mr. Moore wishes to see me, Martin, and I wish to see him."

"But Mr. Moore wishes to see me, Martin, and I wish to see him."


"It is too bad of your mother to exclude his friends."


If you won't help me, I'll manage without help."

"Well, if you won't help me, I'll manage without help."


"Do; there is nothing like self-reliance, self-dependence."

"Do; there is nothing like self-reliance."


"I have no time to reason with you now; but I consider you provoking.


Away she went, the umbrella shut, for she could not carry it against the wind.


"She is not vapid; she is not shallow," said Martin.


"I shall like to watch, and mark how she will work her way without help.

"I shall like to see how she will work her way without help.


If the storm were not of snow, but of fire--such as came refreshingly down on the cities of the plain--she would go through it to procure five minutes' speech of that Moore.


Now, I consider I have had a pleasant morning.


The disappointments got time on; the fears and fits of anger only made that short discourse pleasanter, when it came at last.


She expected to coax me at once. She'll not manage that in one effort.

She expected to coax me at once, but she'll not manage it.


She shall come again, again, and yet again.


It would please me to put her in a passion--to make her cry.

It would please me to put her in a passion - to make her cry.


I want to discover how far she will go--what she will do and dare--to get her will.

I want to discover how far she will go - what she will dare to get her will.


It seems strange and new to find one human being thinking so much about another as she thinks about Moore.


But it is time to go home; my appetite tells me the hour.


and we'll try whether Matthew or I shall get the largest cut of the apple-pie to-day."

We'll see whether Matthew or I shall get the largest slice of apple-pie today."


Shirley showed she had been sincere in saying she should be glad of Caroline's society, by frequently seeking it; and, indeed, if she had not sought it, she would not have had it, for Miss Helstone was slow to make fresh acquaintance.

Shirley showed she had been sincere in saying she should be glad of Caroline's society, by frequently seeking it. Indeed, if she had not sought it, she would not have had it, for Miss Helstone was slow to make friends.


She was always held back by the idea that people could not want her, that she could not amuse them; and a brilliant, happy, youthful creature like the heiress of Fieldhead seemed to her too completely independent of society so uninteresting as hers ever to find it really welcome.

She was always held back by the idea that people could not want her, that she could not amuse them; and she felt that a brilliant, happy, youthful creature like the heiress of Fieldhead would not find her interesting.


Shirley might be brilliant, and probably happy likewise, but no one is independent of genial society; and though in about a month she had made the acquaintance of most of the families round, and was on quite free and easy terms with all the Misses Sykes, and all the Misses Pearson, and the two superlative Misses Wynne of Walden Hall, yet, it appeared, she found none amongst them very genial: she fraternized with none of them, to use her own words.

Though in about a month Shirley had made the acquaintance of most of the nearby families, and was on quite free and easy terms with all the Misses Sykes and Misses Pearson, yet it appeared she found none of them very congenial: she fraternized with none of them, to use her own words.


If she had had the bliss to be really Shirley Keeldar, Esq., lord of the manor of Briarfield, there was not a single fair one in this and the two neighbouring parishes whom she should have felt disposed to request to become Mrs. Keeldar, lady of the manor.

If she had really been lord of the manor of Briarfield, there was not a single fair one amongst them whom she would have wished to ask to become Mrs. Keeldar, lady of the manor.


This declaration she made to Mrs. Pryor, who received it very quietly, as she did most of her pupil's off-hand speeches, responding, "My dear, do not allow that habit of alluding to yourself as a gentleman to be confirmed. It is a strange one.

She made this remark to Mrs. Pryor, who received it very quietly, as she did most of her pupil's off-hand speeches, responding, "My dear, do not allow that strange habit of alluding to yourself as a gentleman to become usual."


Those who do not know you, hearing you speak thus, would think you affected masculine manners."


Shirley never laughed at her former governess; even the little formalities and harmless peculiarities of that lady were respectable in her eyes. Had it been otherwise, she would have proved herself a weak character at once; for it is only the weak who make a butt of quiet worth. Therefore she took her remonstrance in silence.

Shirley never laughed at her former governess; therefore she took her remonstrance in silence.


She stood quietly near the window, looking at the grand cedar on her lawn watching a bird on one of its lower boughs.

She stood near the window, looking at the grand cedar on her lawn, watching a bird on one of its boughs.


Presently she began to chirrup to the bird; soon her chirrup grew clearer; ere long she was whistling; the whistle struck into a tune, and very sweetly and deftly it was executed.

Presently she began to chirrup to the bird; her chirrup grew clearer; before long she was whistling a tune, very deftly.


I had resolved to take care not to whistle before you."

I had resolved not to whistle in your company.


"But, Miss Keeldar, where did you learn to whistle?


You must have got the habit since you came down into Yorkshire.


I took it up by listening, and I had laid it down again.


But lately, yesterday evening, as I was coming up our lane, I heard a gentleman whistling that very tune in the field on the other side of the hedge, and that reminded me."

But yesterday evening, as I was coming up our lane, I heard a gentleman whistling that very tune on the other side of the hedge, and that reminded me."


"We have only one gentleman in this region, ma'am, and that is Mr. Moore--at least he is the only gentleman who is not gray-haired.

"Mr. Moore - the only gentleman in the neighbourhood who is not grey-haired.


My two venerable favourites, Mr. Helstone and Mr. Yorke, it is true, are fine old beaus, infinitely better than any of the stupid young ones."


"You do not like Mr. Helstone, ma'am?" asked Shirley.


"My dear, Mr. Helstone's office secures him from criticism."


"You generally contrive to leave the room when he is announced."

"You generally leave the room when he is announced."


"Do you walk out this morning, my dear?"


"Yes, I shall go to the rectory, and seek and find Caroline Helstone, and make her take some exercise.

"Yes, I shall go to the rectory, and find Caroline Helstone, and make her take some exercise.


She shall have a breezy walk over Nunnely Common."


"If you go in that direction, my dear, have the goodness to remind Miss Helstone to wrap up well, as there is a fresh wind, and she appears to me to require care."

"If you do, my dear, please remind Miss Helstone to wrap up well, as there is a fresh wind, and she appears to me to require care."


"You shall be minutely obeyed, Mrs. Pryor.


Meantime, will you not accompany us yourself?"


"No, my love; I should be a restraint upon you. I am stout, and cannot walk so quickly as you would wish to do."

"No, my love; I cannot walk so quickly as you."


Shirley easily persuaded Caroline to go with her, and when they were fairly out on the quiet road, traversing the extensive and solitary sweep of Nunnely Common, she as easily drew her into conversation.

Shirley easily persuaded Caroline to go with her, and when they were out on the quiet road, traversing the solitary sweep of Nunnely Common, she as easily drew her into conversation.


The first feelings of diffidence overcome, Caroline soon felt glad to talk with Miss Keeldar.

The first feelings of diffidence overcome, Caroline felt glad to talk with Miss Keeldar.


The very first interchange of slight observations sufficed to give each an idea of what the other was.


Shirley said she liked the green sweep of the common turf, and, better still, the heath on its ridges, for the heath reminded her of moors.

Shirley said she liked the green sweep of the common, and, better still, the heath on its ridges, which reminded her of moors.


She had seen moors when she was travelling on the borders near Scotland.


She remembered particularly a district traversed one long afternoon, on a sultry but sunless day in summer. They journeyed from noon till sunset, over what seemed a boundless waste of deep heath, and nothing had they seen but wild sheep, nothing heard but the cries of wild birds.

She remembered particularly a journey on a sultry day, when they had crossed what seemed a boundless waste of deep heath, and had seen nothing but wild sheep, heard nothing but the cries of wild birds.


"I know how the heath would look on such a day," said Caroline; "purple-black--a deeper shade of the sky-tint, and that would be livid."

"I know how the heath would look on such a day," said Caroline; "purple-black - a deeper shade of the sky, and that would be livid."


"Yes, quite livid, with brassy edges to the clouds, and here and there a white gleam, more ghastly than the lurid tinge, which, as you looked at it, you momentarily expected would kindle into blinding lightning."

"Yes, there were brassy edges to the clouds, and here and there a white gleam, which you expected would kindle into lightning."


"It muttered distant peals, but the storm did not break till evening, after we had reached our inn--that inn being an isolated house at the foot of a range of mountains."

"It muttered distant peals, but the storm did not break till evening, after we had reached our inn at the foot of a range of mountains.


"Did you watch the clouds come down over the mountains?"
"I did. I stood at the window an hour watching them.

I stood at the window an hour watching the clouds come down.


The hills seemed rolled in a sullen mist, and when the rain fell in whitening sheets, suddenly they were blotted from the prospect; they were washed from the world."

The hills seemed rolled in a sullen mist, and when the rain fell in sheets, suddenly they were blotted out; they were washed from the world."


"I have seen such storms in hilly districts in Yorkshire; and at their riotous climax, while the sky was all cataract, the earth all flood, I have remembered the Deluge."

"I have seen such storms in Yorkshire, and they made me think of the Deluge.


"It is singularly reviving after such hurricanes to feel calm return, and from the opening clouds to receive a consolatory gleam, softly testifying that the sun is not quenched."


"Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look down at Nunnely dale and wood."

Miss Keeldar, just stand still now, and look at Nunnely dale and wood."


They both halted on the green brow of the common. They looked down on the deep valley robed in May raiment; on varied meads, some pearled with daisies, and some golden with king-cups.

They halted on the green brow of the common, and looked down on the deep valley; on meadows, some pearled with daisies, some golden with king-cups.


To-day all this young verdure smiled clear in sunlight; transparent emerald and amber gleams played over it.


On Nunnwood--the sole remnant of antique British forest in a region whose lowlands were once all silvan chase, as its highlands were breast-deep heather--slept the shadow of a cloud; the distant hills were dappled, the horizon was shaded and tinted like mother-of-pearl; silvery blues, soft purples, evanescent greens and rose-shades, all melting into fleeces of white cloud, pure as azury snow, allured the eye as with a remote glimpse of heaven's foundations.

On Nunnwood - the sole remnant of an ancient forest - slept the shadow of a cloud; the distant hills were dappled, the horizon tinted like mother-of-pearl; silvery blues, soft purples and rose-shades, all melting into fleeces of white cloud, like a remote glimpse of heaven's foundations.


The air blowing on the brow was fresh, and sweet, and bracing.


"Our England is a bonny island," said Shirley, "and Yorkshire is one of her bonniest nooks."


Five generations of my race sleep under the aisles of Briarfield Church.

Five generations of my race sleep under Briarfield Church."


I drew my first breath in the old black hall behind us."


Hereupon Caroline presented her hand, which was accordingly taken and shaken.

Caroline offered her hand, which was accordingly shaken.


"Yes," agreed Shirley, with a grave nod.


"And that," asked Miss Keeldar, pointing to the forest--"that is Nunnwood?"
"It is."
"Were you ever there?"

She pointed to the forest. "Were you ever in the heart of Nunnwood?"


"It is like an encampment of forest sons of Anak.


The trees are huge and old. When you stand at their roots, the summits seem in another region. The trunks remain still and firm as pillars, while the boughs sway to every breeze.

"The trees are huge and old, with trunks as firm as pillars, while the boughs sway to every breeze.


In the deepest calm their leaves are never quite hushed, and in high wind a flood rushes, a sea thunders above you."

In the deepest calm their leaves are never quite hushed, and in a high wind a sea thunders above you.


"Was it not one of Robin Hood's haunts?"


"Yes, and there are mementos of him still existing.


To penetrate into Nunnwood, Miss Keeldar, is to go far back into the dim days of old.


Can you see a break in the forest, about the centre?"


"That break is a dell--a deep, hollow cup, lined with turf as green and short as the sod of this common. The very oldest of the trees, gnarled mighty oaks, crowd about the brink of this dell.

That is a dell, lined with green, and crowded about with the very oldest oaks.


In the bottom lie the ruins of a nunnery."


"We will go--you and I alone, Caroline--to that wood, early some fine summer morning, and spend a long day there.

"We will go - you and I, Caroline - to that wood, early some fine summer morning, and spend a long day there.


We can take pencils and sketch-books, and any interesting reading book we like; and of course we shall take something to eat.

We can take pencils and sketch-books, and any interesting reading book we like; and of course something to eat.


I have two little baskets, in which Mrs. Gill, my housekeeper, might pack our provisions, and we could each carry our own.


It would not tire you too much to walk so far?"


"Oh no; especially if we rested the whole day in the wood.

"Oh no; especially if we rested in the wood.


I know where we could get nuts in nutting time; I know where wild strawberries abound; I know certain lonely, quite untrodden glades, carpeted with strange mosses, some yellow as if gilded, some a sober gray, some gem-green.

I know where wild strawberries abound; I know some lonely, quite untrodden glades, carpeted with strange mosses.


I know groups of trees that ravish the eye with their perfect, picture-like effects--rude oak, delicate birch, glossy beech, clustered in contrast; and ash trees stately as Saul, standing isolated; and superannuated wood-giants clad in bright shrouds of ivy.

I know groups of trees that ravish the eye - oak, delicate birch, glossy beech; and ash trees stately as Saul, standing isolated; and wood-giants clad in bright shrouds of ivy.


I think we should suit; and what third person is there whose presence would not spoil our pleasure?"

I think we should suit; and what third person is there who would not spoil our pleasure?"


"Indeed, I know of none about our own ages--no lady at least; and as to gentlemen----"

"Indeed, I know of none of our own ages - no lady at least. And as to gentlemen-"


"An excursion becomes quite a different thing when there are gentlemen of the party," interrupted Caroline.

"An excursion becomes quite a different thing when there are gentlemen," interrupted Caroline.


"I agree with you--quite a different thing to what we were proposing."


"We were going simply to see the old trees, the old ruins; to pass a day in old times, surrounded by olden silence, and above all by quietude."

"We were going simply to see the old trees, the old ruins; to pass a day in quietude."


"You are right; and the presence of gentlemen dispels the last charm, I think.


If they are of the wrong sort, like your Malones, and your young Sykes, and Wynnes, irritation takes the place of serenity.

If they are of the wrong sort, like your Malones, and your young Sykes, irritation takes the place of serenity.


If they are of the right sort, there is still a change; I can hardly tell what change--one easy to feel, difficult to describe."

If they are of the right sort, there is still a change that is difficult to describe."


"And then Nature forgets us, covers her vast calm brow with a dim veil, conceals her face, and withdraws the peaceful joy with which, if we had been content to worship her only, she would have filled our hearts."

"And then Nature forgets us, and withdraws the peaceful joy with which she would have filled our hearts.


"What does she give us instead?"
"More elation and more anxiety; an excitement that steals the hours away fast, and a trouble that ruffles their course."

Instead she gives us more elation and more anxiety."


"Our power of being happy lies a good deal in ourselves, I believe," remarked Caroline sagely.

"Our power of being happy lies a good deal in ourselves, I believe," remarked Caroline.


"I have gone to Nunnwood with a large party--all the curates and some other gentry of these parts, together with sundry ladies--and I found the affair insufferably tedious and absurd; and I have gone quite alone, or accompanied but by Fanny, who sat in the woodman's hut and sewed, or talked to the goodwife, while I roamed about and made sketches, or read; and I have enjoyed much happiness of a quiet kind all day long.

"I have gone to Nunnwood with a large party - all the curates and other gentry and ladies - and I found it insufferably tedious; and I have gone quite alone, or accompanied only by Fanny, and have roamed about and sketched, or read; and enjoyed much quiet happiness.


But that was when I was young--two years ago."

But that was when I was young - two years ago."


"Did you ever go with your cousin, Robert Moore?"


"What sort of a companion is he on these occasions?"


"A cousin, you know, is different to a stranger."


"I am aware of that; but cousins, if they are stupid, are still more insupportable than strangers, because you cannot so easily keep them at a distance.

"I am aware of that; but cousins, if they are stupid, are more insupportable than strangers, because you cannot so easily keep them at a distance.


"No; but----"
"Well?"
"If the company of fools irritates, as you say, the society of clever men leaves its own peculiar pain also.

"No; but the society of clever men brings its own peculiar pain also.


Where the goodness or talent of your friend is beyond and above all doubt, your own worthiness to be his associate often becomes a matter of question."

You wonder whether you are worthy to be his associate."


there I cannot follow you," cried Shirley.


That crotchet is not one I should choose to entertain for an instant.


I consider myself not unworthy to be the associate of the best of them--of gentlemen, I mean--though that is saying a great deal.

"I consider myself worthy to be the associate of the best of gentlemen.


Where they are good, they are very good, I believe.


Your uncle, by-the-bye, is not a bad specimen of the elderly gentleman.


I am always glad to see his brown, keen, sensible old face, either in my own house or any other.

I am always glad to see his brown, keen, sensible old face.


"He has brought me up from childhood, I doubt not, precisely as he would have brought up his own daughter, if he had had one; and that is kindness.


I would rather be out of his presence than in it."


"Strange, when he has the art of making himself so agreeable."

"Strange, when he makes himself so agreeable."


"Yes, in company; but he is stern and silent at home.


As he puts away his cane and shovel-hat in the rectory hall, so he locks his liveliness in his book-case and study-desk: the knitted brow and brief word for the fireside; the smile, the jest, the witty sally for society."

As he puts away his hat in the rectory hall, so he locks away his liveliness: the smile and jest are for society."


He is neither tyrannical nor hypocritical.


He is simply a man who is rather liberal than good-natured, rather brilliant than genial, rather scrupulously equitable than truly just--if you can understand such superfine distinctions."

He is simply a man who is liberal rather than good-natured, and scrupulously equitable rather than truly just - if you understand me."


Good-nature implies indulgence, which he has not; geniality, warmth of heart, which he does not own; and genuine justice is the offspring of sympathy and considerateness, of which, I can well conceive, my bronzed old friend is quite innocent."

Genuine justice springs from sympathy and considerateness, of which, I can imagine, my bronzed old friend is quite devoid."


"I often wonder, Shirley, whether most men resemble my uncle in their domestic relations; whether it is necessary to be new and unfamiliar to them in order to seem agreeable or estimable in their eyes; and whether it is impossible to their natures to retain a constant interest and affection for those they see every day."

"I often wonder, Shirley, whether most men resemble my uncle at home; whether it is necessary for us to be new and unfamiliar to them in order to seem agreeable in their eyes; and whether it is impossible for them to retain a constant interest and affection for those people they see every day."


I ponder over similar ones myself sometimes.


But, to tell you a secret, if I were convinced that they are necessarily and universally different from us--fickle, soon petrifying, unsympathizing--I would never marry.

But if I were convinced they were all hard and unsympathizing, I would never marry.


I should not like to find out that what I loved did not love me, that it was weary of me, and that whatever effort I might make to please would hereafter be worse than useless, since it was inevitably in its nature to change and become indifferent.

I should not like to find out that what I loved did not love me, and never could despite any effort I might make to please.


That discovery once made, what should I long for? To go away, to remove from a presence where my society gave no pleasure."

Once I made that discovery, I would long to go away."


"But you could not if you were married."


Nothing irks me like the idea of being a burden and a bore--an inevitable burden, a ceaseless bore!

Nothing irks me like the idea of being a burden and a bore!


Now, when I feel my company superfluous, I can comfortably fold my independence round me like a mantle, and drop my pride like a veil, and withdraw to solitude.


"I wonder we don't all make up our minds to remain single," said Caroline.


"We should if we listened to the wisdom of experience.


My uncle always speaks of marriage as a burden; and I believe whenever he hears of a man being married he invariably regards him as a fool, or, at any rate, as doing a foolish thing."

He always speaks of marriage as a burden; and I believe whenever he hears of a man being married, he regards him as a fool."


"But, Caroline, men are not all like your uncle.

"But, Caroline, surely men are not all like your uncle."


"I suppose we each find an exception in the one we love, till we _are_ married," suggested Caroline.

"I suppose we each find an exception in the one we love, till we are married," suggested Caroline.


And this exception we believe to be of sterling materials. We fancy it like ourselves; we imagine a sense of harmony.

And we fancy him to be like ourselves; we imagine a sense of harmony.


We think his voice gives the softest, truest promise of a heart that will never harden against us; we read in his eyes that faithful feeling--affection.

We think his voice promises a heart that will never harden against us; we read faithful affection in his eyes.


I don't think we should trust to what they call passion at all, Caroline.

I don't think we should trust to what they call passion, Caroline.


I believe it is a mere fire of dry sticks, blazing up and vanishing.


But we watch him, and see him kind to animals, to little children, to poor people. He is kind to us likewise, good, considerate.

But we see him kind to animals, to children, to poor people, and kind to us likewise, good, considerate.


He does not flatter women, but he is patient with them, and he seems to be easy in their presence, and to find their company genial.

He does not flatter women, but he is patient with them, and seems to find their company congenial.


He likes them not only for vain and selfish reasons, but as _we_ like him--because we like him.


Then we observe that he is just, that he always speaks the truth, that he is conscientious.


We feel joy and peace when he comes into a room; we feel sadness and trouble when he leaves it.

We feel joy and peace when he comes into a room; we feel sad when he leaves it.


We know that this man has been a kind son, that he is a kind brother.

We know that this man has been a kind son, and a kind brother.


Will any one dare to tell me that he will not be a kind husband?"


"My uncle would affirm it unhesitatingly.


'He will be sick of you in a month,' he would say."


"Mrs. Pryor would seriously intimate the same."

"Mrs. Pryor would seriously hint the same."


"Mrs. Yorke and Miss Mann would darkly suggest ditto."


"If they are true oracles, it is good never to fall in love."

"If they are right," said Shirley, "it is good never to fall in love."


"I am afraid that proves you are already caught."

"I am afraid that proves you are already caught," said Caroline.


But if I were, do you know what soothsayers I would consult?"
"Let me hear."
"Neither man nor woman, elderly nor young: the little Irish beggar that comes barefoot to my door; the mouse that steals out of the cranny in the wainscot; the bird that in frost and snow pecks at my window for a crumb; the dog that licks my hand and sits beside my knee."

But if I were, I would consult neither man nor woman, but the mouse that steals out of the wainscot; the bird that pecks at my window for a crumb; the dog that licks my hand and sits beside my knee.


"Did you ever see any one who was kind to such things?"


"Did you ever see any one whom such things seemed instinctively to follow, like, rely on?"

Did you ever see anyone whom such creatures seemed instinctively to rely on?"


"We have a black cat and an old dog at the rectory.


I know somebody to whose knee that black cat loves to climb, against whose shoulder and cheek it likes to purr. The old dog always comes out of his kennel and wags his tail, and whines affectionately when somebody passes."

I know somebody onto whose knee that black cat loves to climb; and the old dog always comes out of his kennel and wags his tail, and whines affectionately when somebody passes."


"He quietly strokes the cat, and lets her sit while he conveniently can; and when he must disturb her by rising, he puts her softly down, and never flings her from him roughly.

"He quietly strokes the cat, and when he must disturb her by rising, he puts her softly down.


He always whistles to the dog and gives him a caress."


Has he not fine eyes and well-cut features, and a clear, princely forehead?"


When I first looked at your face I knew you would."


"I was well inclined to him before I saw him.


There is charm in beauty for itself, Caroline; when it is blent with goodness, there is a powerful charm."

When beauty is blended with goodness, Caroline, there is a powerful charm."


"Remember my uncle, Mesdames Pryor, Yorke, and Mann."


"Remember the croaking of the frogs of Egypt.


I tell you when they _are_ good they are the lords of the creation--they are the sons of God.

I tell you when they are good they are the lords of the creation - they are the sons of God.


Moulded in their Maker's image, the minutest spark of His spirit lifts them almost above mortality.


Indisputably, a great, good, handsome man is the first of created things."


"I would scorn to contend for empire with him--I would scorn it.

"I would scorn to contend for empire with him.


Shall my left hand dispute for precedence with my right?


Shall my veins be jealous of the blood which fills them?"


"Men and women, husbands and wives, quarrel horribly, Shirley."

"Husbands and wives quarrel horribly, Shirley.


God made them for another lot, for other feelings."


"But are we men's equals, or are we not?"


"Nothing ever charms me more than when I meet my superior--one who makes me sincerely feel that he is my superior."

"Nothing ever charms me more than when I meet my superior - one who makes me sincerely feel that he is my superior.


The higher above me, so much the better.


It degrades to stoop; it is glorious to look up.


What frets me is, that when I try to esteem, I am baffled; when religiously inclined, there are but false gods to adore.

What frets me is that when I try to esteem, I am baffled."


"Not to-day, but to-morrow I shall fetch you to spend the evening with me.

"Not today, but tomorrow I shall fetch you to spend the evening with me.


Caroline Helstone, if you really are what at present to me you seem, you and I will suit.

Caroline Helstone, if you really are what at present you seem, you and I will suit.


I have never in my whole life been able to talk to a young lady as I have talked to you this morning.


Mrs. Pryor seemed as well disposed to cultivate Caroline's acquaintance as Shirley.

Mrs. Pryor seemed as friendly as Shirley.


She, who went nowhere else, called on an early day at the rectory. She came in the afternoon, when the rector happened to be out.

She, who went nowhere else, called at the rectory one afternoon, when the rector happened to be out.


It was rather a close day; the heat of the weather had flushed her, and she seemed fluttered too by the circumstance of entering a strange house, for it appeared her habits were most retiring and secluded.

It was rather a close day; the heat had flushed her, and she seemed flustered too at entering a strange house.


When Miss Helstone went to her in the dining-room she found her seated on the sofa, trembling, fanning herself with her handkerchief, and seeming to contend with a nervous discomposure that threatened to become hysterical.

She sat on the sofa, trembling, and fanning herself with her handkerchief with nervous discomposure.