“That is impossible, for, graceful as a fawn and with spirits buoyant and elastic, her features, at one moment gleaming with hope, and the next, subdued in sympathy, were changeable as the aspects of the summer cloud, but beautiful in all its changes—for the light it reflected was borrowed from heaven.”
“Hers, then, was the beauty of expression.”
“Yes, of angelic expression, and yet her countenance was exquisitely lovely in repose. It reminded one of an inland lake, which, when serene and undisturbed, reflects the flowers and the foliage around it; but, when agitated, the shadows on its surface, the tiny crests of foam and mimic waves brattling on the shore, all its wild and shifting beauties are its own. She died on an early summer’s morning, the dew-drop yet sparkling on the blade which, while it bent, it fertilized; and the whole earth, in one gush of fragrance, sent up its tribute to the mighty hand that made it.”
“Oh, Edward! it were happiness thus to die.”
“Ay, dearest, it is only a spirit pure and spotless as your own, that can realize that death has no terrors where life has no reproaches.”
A pressure of the hand was her only reply, for his eyes were filled with tears, and she felt too much moved to speak. After a slight pause he proceeded. “In less than twelve months, my mother followed her to the grave, and the day and the hour, the occasion and the scene, are deeply graven in my memory; but,” he continued, observing her emotion, “I will not distress you with the sad recital, although the sorrows of that bitter hour were not without their solace—for, feeling that our loss would be her gain, the showers and the sunshine, the alternate gloom and brightness of the day without, were typical of our hopes and fears. My patrimony was considerable, and my mother had named a distant relative and seemingly attached friend as her executor and my guardian.
“A few weeks found me under the roof of Mr. Thornton. The exchange was a sad one. I had left the home of my infancy, where every familiar object was associated with some kindly phrase or act of endearment, to become a member of a proud aristocratic family, which traced its lineage from England. I could have endured privations without repining, but I was peculiarly sensitive of neglect, and was like the vine cast from the trunk which had supported it, whose tendrils, unsustained and drooping, are swayed to and fro by the wind, seeking for something whereupon to cling. Repelled by the cold indifference of the family, my yearning nature found the sympathy it needed in the friendship of Mr. Winchester, who was employed as a private tutor for Mr. Thornton’s children. Above all men I have ever seen, he united the wisdom of the serpent with the simplicity of the dove. Placed under his tuition, I made rapid progress, he was pleased to say, not only in the acquisition of knowledge from books, but in that more difficult branch which teaches us to analyze our feelings, and to know ourselves. You remember Mr. Hamilton, who left here shortly after my arrival?”
“Indeed, I do, and esteem him highly, for he is a most excellent man.”
“Well, imagine him a little taller, a shade more pensive, somewhat more retiring in his manners, and with an enunciation yet more distinct, and you have Mr. Winchester before you.”
“I see him—and with the character you give, feel that I could love him too.”