But that was not my lady's last visit; she came
over with Miss Charlotte another afternoon when Mr. Fairfax was gone to
Norminster, and on this occasion she behaved with the gracious sweetness
that had fascinated her young admirer in former days. Bessie said she
was like herself again. At my lady's request Bessie took her up to the
white parlor. On the threshold she stopped a full minute, gazing in:
nothing of its general aspect was changed since she saw it last--how
long ago! She went straight to the old bookcase, and took down one of
Dorothy Fairfax's manuscript volumes and furled over the leaves. Miss
Charlotte drew Bessie to the window and engaged her in admiration of the
prospect, to leave her sister undisturbed.
Presently my lady said, "Charlotte, do you remember these old books of
Dorothy's?" and Miss Charlotte went and looked over the page.
"Oh yes. Dear Dorothy had such a pretty taste--she always knew when a
sentiment was nicely put. She was a great lover of the old writers."
After a few minutes of silent reading my lady spoke again: "She once
recited to me some verses of George Herbert's--of when God at first made
man, how He gave him strength, beauty, wisdom, honor, pleasure, all to
keep, but with repining restlessness. They were a prophecy. I cannot
find them." She restored the volume to its shelf, quoting the last
lines--all she remembered distinctly:
"Let him be rich and weary, that at last,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.
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