The thing
was so long ago that she was to him as some aunt, or sister, so much
the elder as to be almost venerable. He acknowledged to himself a
feeling which made it incumbent upon him to spend himself in her
service, could he serve her by any work of his. He was,--or would be,
devoted to her. He owed her a never-dying gratitude. But were she
free to marry again to-morrow, he knew that he could not marry her.
She herself had said the same thing. She had said that she would be
his sister. She had specially required of him that he should make
known to her his wife, should he ever marry again. She had declared
that she was incapable of further jealousy;--and yet she now told him
of daily sin of which her conscience could not assoil itself.
"Phineas," said a voice close to his ears, "are you repenting your
sins?"
"Oh, certainly;--what sins?"
It was Barrington Erle. "You know that we are going to do nothing
to-morrow," continued he.
"So I am told."
"We shall let the Address pass almost without a word.
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