Donal and she had never had any further talk, much as she would have liked it, upon things poetic. As a matter of supposed duty—where she had got the idea I do not know—certainly not from Miss Carmichael, seeing she approved of little poetry but that of Young, Cowper, Pollok, and James Montgomery—she had been reading the Paradise Lost, and wished much to speak of it to Donal, but had not the courage.
When Miss Carmichael came, she at once perceived a difference in her, and it set her thinking. She was not one to do or say anything without thinking over it first. She had such a thorough confidence in her judgment, and such a pleasure in exercising it, that she almost always rejected an impulse. Judgment was on the throne; feeling under the footstool. There was something in Arctura’s carriage which reminded her of the only time when she had stood upon her rank with her. This was once she made a remark disparaging a favourite dog: for the animals Arctura could brave even her spiritual nightmare: they were not under the wrath and curse like men and women, therefore might be defended! She had on that occasion shown so much offence that Miss Carmichael saw, if she was to keep her influence over her, she must avoid rousing the phantom of rank in defence of prejudice. She was now therefore careful—said next to nothing, but watched her keenly, and not the less slyly that she looked her straight in the face. There is an effort to see into the soul of others that is essentially treacherous; wherever, friendship being the ostensible bond, inquiry outruns regard, it is treachery—an endeavour to grasp more than the friend would knowingly give.
They went for a little walk in the grounds; as they returned they met Donal going out with Davie. Arctura and Donal passed with a bow and a friendly smile; Davie stopped and spoke to the ladies, then bounded after his friend.
“Have you attended the scripture-lesson regularly?” asked Miss Carmichael.
“Yes; I have been absent only once, I think, since you left,” replied Arctura.
“Good, my dear! You have not been leaving your lamb to the wolf!”
“I begin to doubt if he be a wolf.”
“Ah! does he wear his sheepskin so well? Are you sure he is not plotting to devour sheep and shepherd together?” said Miss Carmichael, with an open glance of search.
“Don’t you think,” suggested Arctura, “when you are not able to say anything, it would be better not to be present? Your silence looks like agreement.”
“But you can always protest! You can assert he is all wrong. You can say you do not in the least agree with him!”