"Lottie," said her brother Dan, as she kissed him good-night, after telling a marvellously good story, "what has come over you? You make me think of Auntie Jane."
"I must be growing good indeed, if I remind any one of Auntie Jane," thought Lottie, exultantly.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE TERROR OF A GREAT FEAR.
Long before Harcourt reached his law-office, he was satisfied that he had blundered foolishly, and done Miss Martell great injustice. Her right to refuse his unwelcome love was perfect, and her manner of doing so, as he understood her, had been most delicate, even in his estimation. At the same time she had never given him the slightest ground for his implied aspersion that in her pure, Christian life she shone down upon him with the cold distance of a "star."
He recalled her words and bearing in Mrs. Byram's conservatory, and the degree in which his unreasonable passion had blinded him grew more apparent.
"Why should I expect her to love me?" he asked himself in bitterness. "It is a hundred-fold more than I deserve, or had a right to hope, that she should put out her hand to save me."
He was on the point of returning twenty times, and asking her pardon for his folly, but that bane of our life,—that hinderance to more good and happiness than perhaps any other one cause,—pride, deterred, and Monday evening passed, an unhappy one to the object of his thoughts as well as to himself.
On Tuesday pride was vanquished, and as soon as his business permitted he repaired to the Martell mansion, eager to ask forgiveness. To his deep disappointment, he learned that Mr. Martell and his daughter had driven up to town, crossed on the ferry-boat, and were paying some visits on the other side of the river.
He now purposed to call again as soon as they returned, but was unexpectedly detained until quite late in the evening. He approached the familiar place that now enshrined, to him, the jewel of the world, in both a humble and an heroic mood. He would not presume again, but in silence live worthily of his love for one so lovely. He would be more than content—yes, grateful—if she would deign to help him climb toward her moral height.