Christian fiction; Scotland -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
If Godfrey had seen in his new relation to Letty a possibility of the
revival of feelings he had supposed for ever extinguished, such a
possibility would have borne to him purely the aspect of danger; at the
mere idea of again falling in love he would have sickened with dismay;
and whether or not he had any dread of such a catastrophe, certain it
is that he behaved to her more as a pedagogue than a cousinly tutor,
insisting on a precision in all she did that might have gone far to
rouse resentment and recoil in the mind of a less childlike woman. Just
as surely, notwithstanding all that, however, did the sweet girl grow
into his heart: it _could_ not be otherwise. The idea of her was making
a nest for itself in his soul--what kind of a nest for long he did not
know, and for long did not think to inquire. Living thus, like an elder
brother with a much younger sister, he was more than satisfied,
refusing, it may be, to regard the probability of intruding change. But
how far any man and woman may have been made capable of loving without
falling in love, can be answered only after question has yielded to
history. In the mean time, Mrs. Wardour, who would have been indignant
at the notion of any equal bond between her idolized son and her
patronized cousin, neither saw, nor heard, nor suspected anything to
rouse uneasiness.
Things were thus in the old house, when the growing affection of Letty
for Mary Marston took form one day in the request that she would make
Thornwick the goal of her Sunday walk. She repented, it is true, the
moment she had said the words, from dread of her aunt; but they had
been said, and were accepted. Mary went, and the aunt difficulty had
been got over. The friendship of Godfrey also had now run into that of
the girls, and Mary's visits were continued with pleasure to all, and
certainly with no little profit to herself; for, where the higher
nature can not communicate the greater benefit, it will reap it. Her
Sunday visit became to Mary the one foraging expedition of the
week--that which going to church ought to be, and so seldom can be.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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