"Yes," Father White went on tenderly, but as one who must probe the wound that it may heal the sooner, "it is the nature of woman to look up. She will do it, and if she cannot raise the one she loves she will stoop to the dust herself, that from that abasement the man may still seem to stand above her."
"Father," cried Elinor, casting aside all concealment, "the man I love is not base."
"Do I know him?"
"You have seen him."
"This night?"
"This night."
"Can a man who knoweth not how to rule his own tongue rule a wife, and above all a wife like thee, aflame one instant, the next melted to tenderness, full of pity and long-suffering, yet quick of spirit and proud as Lucifer?"
Elinor was silent.
"A captious temper is a grievous fault, yet it may be mended—if he is of the true faith. But, oh, my daughter, tempt not thy fate by marrying an unbeliever! Faults thou mayst conquer; sins thou mayst forgive or win forgiveness for; but unbelief is a blight which fosters every vice and destroys every virtue. Root up this passion, though it seem to tear thy life with it. Think on thy boy! Durst thou expose him to the influence of such an example?"
"Father," said Elinor, tremulously, "I cannot answer now—I must have time to think. Who knows but my love may draw him into the right path?"