Perfect in kindness, Sidney
had never addressed a word to her which implied more than
friendship--never until that evening at the farm; then for the first
time had he struck a new note. His words seemed spoken with the express
purpose of altering his and her relations to each other. So much
Jane had felt, and his change since then was all the more painful to
her, all the more confusing. Now that of a sudden she had to regard
herself in an entirely new way, the dearest interest of her life
necessarily entered upon another phase. Struggling to understand how
her grandfather could think her worthy of such high trust, she
inevitably searched her mind for testimony as to the account in
which Sidney held her. A fearful hope had already flushed her cheeks
before Michael spoke the words which surely could have but one
meaning.
On one point Sidney had left her no doubts; that his love for Clara
Hewett was a thing of the past he had told her distinctly. And why
did he wish her to be assured of that? Oh, had her grandfather been
mistaken in those words he reported? Durst she put faith in them,
coming thus to her by another's voice?
Doubts and dreads and self-reproofs might still visit her from hour
to hour, but the instinct of joy would not allow her to refuse
admission to this supreme hope.
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