in being willing to take Linda at all after all that had
happened, but she had begun to be aware that he himself was not
able to make his own goodness apparent to Linda. She did not in her
heart blame Peter for his want of eloquence, but rather imputed an
increased degree of culpability to Linda, in that any eloquence
was necessary for her conviction on such a matter. Eloquence in an
affair of marriage, in reference to any preparation for marriage
arrangements, was one of those devil's baits of which Madame Staubach
was especially afraid. Ludovic Valcarm no doubt could be eloquent,
could talk of love, and throw glances from his eyes, and sigh, and do
worse things, perhaps, even than those. All tricks of Satan, these to
ensnare the souls of young women! Peter could perform no such tricks,
and therefore it was that his task was so difficult to him. She could
not regard it as a deficiency that he was unable to do those very
things which, when done in her presence, were abominable to her
sight, and when spoken of were abominable to her ears, and when
thought of were abominable to her imagination. But yet how was she to
arrange this marriage, if Peter were able to say nothing for himself?
So she sat herself down and clasped her hands and prayed earnestly
that assistance might be given to her. If you pray that a mountain
shall be moved, and will have faith, the mountain shall certainly
be stirred. So she told herself; but she told herself this in an
agony of spirit, because she still doubted,--she feared that she
doubted,--that this thing would not be done for her by heaven's aid.
Oh, if she could only make herself certain that heaven would aid her,
then the thing would be done for her. She could not be certain, and
therefore she felt herself to be a wretched sinner.

In the mean time, Linda was in bed up-stairs, thinking over her
position, and making up her mind as to what should be her future
conduct. As far as it might be possible, she would enter no room in
which Peter Steinmarc was present. She would not go into the parlour
when he was there, even though her aunt should call her. Should he
follow her into the kitchen, she would instantly leave it. On no
pretence would she speak to him. She had always the refuge of her own
bedroom, and should he venture to follow her there, she thought that
she would know how to defend herself. As to the rest, she must bear
her aunt's thoughts, and if necessary her aunt's hard words also.