At that word she suddenly stopped. There was a silence as of death. Dropping abruptly from the high-wrought pitch of inspired passion, she went on again in a tone of deep and solemn feeling, saying, “If there be a soul here thus hard beset by a strong temptation of any kind, to betray the innocent, or to sell the pure uprightness of a precious and immortal spirit, let him or her”—and she seemed to pause on the latter word—“pause, and cut off the offending part, even should it be some tender, quivering portion of the heart itself, and preserve unscathed the glorious, eternal heritage of a good conscience!”
A deep sigh seemed to issue from the bosom of the whole united congregation. There was a breathing, as of a sudden relief, and after a short silence the meeting broke up. Many a one asked of his neighbour for whom this could be meant. There was one who could have answered; but she was walking as in a dream. She entered the waiting carriage, shrunk into a corner, only answering, “A most awful sermon!” to a question of what she thought of it. She hastened to her chamber, and there found a relief in a torrent of tears, and in vows to stand firm to her duty, if it cost her her life.
CHAPTER VI.
WHAT CAME OF MILLICENT’S VISIT.
For some days Millicent’s distress was too obvious to escape the attention of her loving friends. They inquired again if she were ill; if she had received any bad news. She was obliged to lay the blame of her pale face and sad aspect on indisposition, and then had to fight off the doctor, who was eagerly pressed upon her. She said a few days would set her right again she did not doubt; and immediately pleasant drives and cheerful calls on agreeable friends were recommended. The young ladies proposed a drive into the parks, and their brother stayed to accompany them. Millicent had often driven across the parks, and admired their pleasant greenness amid the vast brick wilderness of London; but she had no idea of what this drive was to be. About four in the afternoon they entered Hyde Park, and found themselves at once in a splendid cavalcade of fine horses, fine carriages, and fine people, which made Millicent exclaim, “What is all this about? Where are all these fashionable people going?”
“They are about what we are about; they are going just where we are going,” said the Friends. “These are the aristocracy taking their daily airing before dinner.”
As Millicent gazed in astonishment at the trains of handsome equipages, superb horses, superbly liveried servants, and handsome young men and women on magnificent horses, she said, “And this every day! What an amazing scene!”
“Not so amazing,” said Edmund; “if you consider that whilst Parliament is sitting, not only the wealth of a world’s commerce, but that of all the rest of the United Kingdom, is being expended here; that here you see the élite of the British aristocracy of rank, affluence, and political influence, assembled. Now you may form some little idea of the riches, the beauty, and taste of England. The world has no such scene besides—not the Prater at Vienna—not even the Bois de Boulogne of Paris.” And as they drove, he pointed out to Millicent, men of distinguished rank, ministers, judges, great lawyers, ambassadors of different countries, great Parliamentary orators, and the most noted beauties of the fashionable world.
“Well,” said Millicent, “it is worth seeing; but I am glad I form no part of it.”
“Why not?” asked Edmund.