"No one that has seen much of Fleda would ever describe her by that name."
Charlton had the candour to think he had seen something of her that morning.
"Poor child!" said Mrs. Rossitur sadly,--"I can't bear to think of her spending her life as she is doing--wearing herself out, I know, sometimes--and buried alive."
"Buried!" said Charlton in his turn.
"Yes--without any of the advantages and opportunities she ought to have. I can't bear to think of it. And yet how should I ever live without her!"--said Mrs. Rossitur, leaning her face upon her hands. "And if she were known she would not be mine long. But it grieves me to have her go without her music that she is so fond of, and the books she wants--she and Hugh have gone from end to end of every volume there is in the house, I believe, in every language, except Greek."
"Well, she looks pretty happy and contented, mother."
"I don't know!" said Mrs. Rossitur shaking her head.
"Isn't she happy?"
"I don't know," said Mrs. Rossitur again;--"she has a spirit that is happy in doing her duty, or anything for those she loves; but I see her sometimes wearing a look that pains me exceedingly. I am afraid the way she lives and the changes in our affairs have worn upon her more than we know of--she feels doubly everything that touches me, or Hugh, or your father. She is a gentle spirit!--"
"She seems to me not to want character," said Charlton.