He
remembered his first sight of her; her lithe figure swaying to
and fro as she balanced herself on the slippery stones, half
smiling at her own dilemma, with a bright, happy light in the
eyes, that seemed like a reflection from the glancing waters
sparkling below. Then he recalled the changed, affrighted look of
those eyes as they met his, after the child's rebuff of her
advances; how that little incident filled up the tale at which
Mrs. Hughes had hinted, in a kind of sorrowful way, as if loath
(as a Christian should be) to believe evil. Then that fearful
evening, when he had only just saved her from committing suicide,
and that nightmare sleep! And now--lost, forsaken, and but just
delivered from the jaws of death, she lay dependent for
everything on his sister and him--utter strangers a few weeks
ago. Where was her lover? Could he be easy and happy? Could he
grow into perfect health, with these great sins pressing on his
conscience with a strong and hard pain? Or had he a conscience?
Into whole labyrinths of social ethics Mr. Benson's thoughts
wandered, when his sister entered suddenly and abruptly.
"What does the doctor say? Is she better?"
"Oh, yes! she's better," answered Miss Benson, sharp and short.
Her brother looked at her in dismay. She bumped down into a chair
in a cross, disconcerted manner. They were both silent for a few
minutes, only Miss Benson whistled and clucked alternately.
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