“Did he so? Then it is evident that he fears disclosure! Something must be done. Why not write to our father?”
“I could not! He would call it a silly fancy.”
“And it might embroil him with my Lady,” added Harriet. “We must devise another mode.”
“You will not—must not tell Mr. Arden,” exclaimed Aurelia, peremptorily.
“Never fear! He heeds nothing more sublunary than the course of the planets. But I have it. His device will serve the purpose. Do you remember Eugene confounding him with Friar Bacon because he was said to light a candle without flint or steel? It was true. When he was a bachelor he always lit his own candle and fire, and he always carries the means. I was frighted the first time he showed me, but now I can do it as well as he. See,” she said, opening a case, “a drop of this spirit upon this prepared cotton;” and as a bright flame sprang up and made Aurelia start, she laughed and applied a taper to it. “There, one such flash would be quite enough to prove to you whether there be any deception practised on you.”
“I could never do it! Light is agony to Mr. Belamour, and what would he think?”
“He would take it for lightning, which I suppose he cannot keep out.”
“One flash did come through everything last summer, but I was not looking towards him.”
“You will be wiser this time. Here, I can give you this little box, for Mr. Arden compounded a fresh store in town.”
“I dare not, sister. He has ever bidden me trust without sight; and you cannot guess how good he is to me, and how noble and generous. I cannot insult him by a doubt.”