"Dear sister," said Aurelia, touched, "believe me that indeed I am.
Mr. Belamour is kindness itself. He is all he ever promised to be
to me, and sometimes more."
"Yet if he loved you, he could never let you live moped up there. Are
you never frighted at the dark chamber? I should die of it!"
"The dark does not fright me," said Aurelia.
"You have a courage I have not! Come, now, were you never frighted
to talk with a voice in the dark?"
"Scarcely ever!" said aurelia.
"Scarcely--when was that?"
"You will laugh, Harriet, but it is when he is most--most tender and
full of warmth. Then I hardly know him for the same."
"What! If he be not always tender to my poor dear child, he must be
a wretch indeed."
"O no, no, Harriet! How shall I ever make you understand?" cried
Aurelia. "Never for a moment is he other than kind and gentle. It
is generally like a father, only more courtly and deferential, but
sometimes something seems to come over him, and he is--oh! I cannot
tell you--what I should think a lover would be," faltered Aurelia,
colouring crimson, and hiding her face on her sister's shoulder,
as old habits of confidence, and need of counsel and sympathy were
obliterating all the warnings of last night.
"You silly little chit! Why don't you encourage these advances?
You ought to be charmed, not frightened.
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