and when well lit might find that
the creating heat had gone out, or had withdrawn itself. She knew
herself, by instinct, faithful to the core, and if once she consented to
love the man, she would have to go on doing it. That looked likely to be
terrible, and she fought against herself continually. And she not only
tried not to love the butterfly, but had tried her loyal hardest to love
the bulldog. The last chance of success in the second enterprise went
out finally when Thistlewood had once so far conquered his clumsy
reticence of manner as actually to put his arm about her waist. Then
every fibre of her body cried out against him, and she escaped him,
shivering and thrilling with a repulsion so strong that it seemed like
a crime to her. How dared she feel the touch of so estimable a man to be
so hateful? But from that moment the thing was settled beyond a doubt.
She could respect John Thistlewood, she could admire the solidity and
faithfulness of his character--but, marry him? That was asking for more
than nature could agree to.

If Lane had only resembled John a little--ah! there was a glow of
certainty called up by that fancy which might have been altogether
delicious had the fancy been well grounded. If John had only been a
little more like Lane? She was hardly so sure. Obviously, John was not
the man for this girl to warm her heart at.

The worst of it was that he would never find or look for another girl,
and his long courtship, though it could never endear him, or even make
him tolerable as a lover, served at least to have established a sort of
claim upon her. The great faithful heart might break if she should
throw herself away. The depth of his affection, as she realised it for
herself, could only be understood by one capable of an equal passion.
She never guessed, or came near to guessing, that her conception of him
was the realisation of herself; but it is only great hearts which
truly know what great hearts can be, and her profound conception of
Thistle-wood's fidelity was her own best certificate to faithfulness.

The little musical bell went on tinkling as she walked across the
fields. It had various rates of movement to indicate to distant
worshippers the progress of the time, and she gave a careful ear to its
warnings, so regulating her steps as only to enter the churchyard at the
last minute.

There sure enough were both John and Lane waiting to pay their morning
salutation. Happily, to her own m