“Do not intend to marry, cousin!” said Lucy, laying down her work.
“Why, coz!” said Ellen smiling, “you seem surprised.”
“Cousin Ellen,” continued Lucy, in a more serious tone, “I wish to ask you another question—will you answer me candidly?”
“Certainly,” said Ellen, “if it be in my power.”
“Then Ellen, did you love the beautiful penitent?”
“Arthur! Lucy. What could have induced you to ask such a question?”
“I have two reasons. The one, because the world says so. The other, because I was half in love with him myself, before he became so etherial.”
“The world says so,” responded Ellen.
“Yes, it says that you fell violently in love with his handsome face at the alms-house; then, afterwards, had him removed to the insane hospital, where he remained at your expense, (though papa did pay the bills!) and since his death, that you have formed the resolution to devote your life to single blessedness.”
Here Ellen burst into a peal of merry laughter “Dr. L. must have reported that story. Poor fellow! his soul is so given to earth, that he cannot conceive one idea above it—and it is but natural that he should form such conclusions. But to be serious, Lucy,” continued she, a sad smile lighting up her expressive countenance, “I never felt for Arthur one ray of earthly love! What I did for him at the alms-house, I would have done as you well know, and would still do, for the most hideous wretch who possesses an immortal soul. His deep contrition, and early history, made me feel for him the love of a sister for an erring, but penitent brother; but, to say that his uncommon beauty, and superior powers of mind, did not heighten that interest would be false. We are all formed to love what is beautiful and sublime, and I know of nothing more beautiful, than beautiful features lit up by purity of heart—or more God-like and sublime, than great powers of mind rightly directed; for, even when fallen and degraded from their high estate, we cannot divest them of interest. And when he came to reside with us, his pious resignation under suffering, and his deep absorbing love for our blessed Saviour, made me feel as in the presence of a pure spirit! and as such, I loved him. And now, every spot that he loved—every flower which he cherished—the room in which he died—all have to me a holy charm!”