"What is it, Alice?"
"Did you hear what Cousin Janet said to Lydia, to-night, mother? God hates those who deceive."
"Why think of that now, my love?"
"Because it refers to me. She did not mean it for me, but it came home to my heart."
"To your heart? That has always been truth and candor itself. Try and banish such thoughts. If you were well, fancies like these would not affect you."
"They are not fancies, they are realities," said Alice. She sighed and continued, "Am I not deceiving the kind protector and friend of my childhood? Oh, mother, if he knew all, how little would he love me! And Arthur, can it be right for me to be engaged to him, and to deceive him, too?"
"Dear Alice, how often have we talked about this, and hoped you were satisfied as to the propriety of being silent on the subject at present. Your uncle's health is very feeble; he is subject to sudden and alarming attacks of sickness, and easily thrown into a state of agitation that endangers his life. Would you run such a risk? What a grief would it be to him to know that the hopes of years were to be destroyed, and by one whom he had nursed in his own bosom as a child. Poor Arthur, too! away from home so long—trusting you with such confidence, looking forward with delight to the time of his return, could you bear thus to dash his dearest prospects to the earth?"
"But he must know it, mother. I could not marry him with a lie in my right hand."
"It will not be so, Alice; you cannot help loving Arthur, above all men, when you are with him; so noble, so generous, so gifted with all that is calculated to inspire affection, you will wonder your heart has ever wavered."