d with his first
love. She respected his first love. She respected the method of nature,
but did not feel forced to admire it.

Her distaste for the intimacy of marriage returned with tenfold
strength. One might have become submissive and companionable with a
virgin nature; to marry another woman's lover seemed ridiculous. This
storm cleared the air beautifully. Her own point of view became plainer,
and she saw how far inclination had hurried her. For some hours she had
been near to falling in love with Arthur, had been willing to yield to
tender persuasion. The woman guilty of such weakness did not seem at
this moment to have been Honora Ledwith; only a poor soul, like a little
ship in a big wind, borne away by the tempest of emotion.

She had no blame for Arthur. His life was his own concern. Part of it
had brought her much happiness. Edith's scandalous story did not shake
her confidence in him. Undoubtedly he was free to marry, or he would not
have approached her. His freedom from a terrible bond must have been
recent, since his manner towards herself had changed only that summer,
within the month in fact. The reserve of years had been prompted by hard
conditions. In honor he could not woo. Ah, in him ran the fibre of the
hero, no matter what might have been his mistakes! He had resisted every
natural temptation to show his love. Once more they were brother and
sister, children of the dear father whose last moments they had
consoled. Who would regret the sorrow which led to such a revealing of
hearts?

The vision of her convent rose again to her pleased eye, fresh and
beautiful as of old, and dearer because of the passing darkness which
had concealed it for a time; the light from the chapel windows falling
upon the dark robes in the choir, the voices of the reader, chanter, and
singer, and the solemn music of the organ; the procession filing
silently from one duty to another, the quiet cell when the day was over,
and the gracious intimacy with God night and day. Could her belief and
her delight in that holy life have been dim for an instant? Ah, weakness
of the heart! The mountain is none the less firm because clouds obscure
its lofty form. She had been wrapped in the clouds of feeling, but never
once had her determination failed.

CHAPTER XXXV.

SONIA CONSULTS LIVINGSTONE.

Edith's visit, so futile, so unlike her, had been prompted by the
hatefulness of her nature. The expedition to California had fai