She regarded none of the objections of the old lady, the
aunt of her she sought, who would have denied her entrance. Edith's was
a spirit of the firmest mould--tenacious of its purpose, and influenced
by no consideration which would have jostled with the intended good. She
approached the sufferer, who lay half-conscious only on her couch. Lucy
could not be mistaken as to the person of her visiter. The noble
features, full of generous beauty and a warm spirit, breathing affection
for all human things, and doubly expanded with benevolent sweetness when
gazing down upon one needing and deserving of so much--all told her that
the beloved and the betrothed of Ralph Colleton was before her. She
looked but once; then, sighing deeply, turned her head upon the pillow,
so as to shut out a presence so dangerously beautiful.
But Edith was a woman whose thoughts--having deeply examined the minute
structure of her own heart--could now readily understand that of another
which so nearly resembled it.
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