"Guilty, verily, I am guilty, in leading her on, if I meant nothing by
it," he had written against himself, pausing in his sermon to write it
just as Lucy came in, appealing so prettily to him to know why he had
neglected her so long. She was very beautiful this morning, and Arthur
felt his heart beat rapidly as he looked at her, and thought most any
man who had never known Anna Ruthven would be glad to gather that
bright creature in his own arms and know she was his own. One long,
long sigh to the memory of all he had hoped for once--one bitter pang
as he remembered Anna and that twilight hour in the church and then he
made a mad plunge in the dark and said:
"Lucy, do you know people are beginning to talk about my seeing you so
much?"
"Well, let them talk. Who cares?" Lucy replied, with a good deal of
asperity of manner for her, for that very morning the old housekeeper
at Prospect Hill had ventured to remonstrate with her for "running
after the parson." "Pray, where is the wrong? What harm can come of
it?" and she tossed her head pettishly.
"None, perhaps," Arthur replied, "if one could keep his affections
under control. But if either of us should learn to love the other very
much, and the love was not reciprocated, harm would surely come of
that.
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