Rosamond Oliver kept her word in coming to visit me. Her call at

the school was generally made in the course of her morning ride.

She would canter up to the door on her pony, followed by a mounted

livery servant. Anything more exquisite than her appearance, in her

purple habit, with her Amazon's cap of black velvet placed

gracefully above the long curls that kissed her cheek and floated to

her shoulders, can scarcely be imagined: and it was thus she would

enter the rustic building, and glide through the dazzled ranks of

the village children. She generally came at the hour when Mr.

Rivers was engaged in giving his daily catechising lesson. Keenly,

I fear, did the eye of the visitress pierce the young pastor's

heart. A sort of instinct seemed to warn him of her entrance, even

when he did not see it; and when he was looking quite away from the

door, if she appeared at it, his cheek would glow, and his marble-

seeming features, though they refused to relax, changed

indescribably, and in their very quiescence became expressive of a

repressed fervour, stronger than working muscle or darting glance

could indicate.

Of course, she knew her power: indeed, he did not, because he could

not, conceal it from her. In spite of his Christian stoicism, when

she went up and addressed him, and smiled gaily, encouragingly, even

fondly in his face, his hand would tremble and his eye burn. He

seemed to say, with his sad and resolute look, if he did not say it

with his lips, "I love you, and I know you prefer me. It is not

despair of success that keeps me dumb. If I offered my heart, I

believe you would accept it. But that heart is already laid on a

sacred altar: the fire is arranged round it. It will soon be no

more than a sacrifice consumed."

And then she would pout like a disappointed child; a pensive cloud

would soften her radiant vivacity; she would withdraw her hand

hastily from his, and turn in transient petulance from his aspect,

at once so heroic and so martyr-like. St. John, no doubt, would

have given the world to follow, recall, retain her, when she thus

left him; but he would not give one chance of heaven, nor

relinquish, for the elysium of her love, one hope of the true,

eternal Paradise. Besides, he could not bind all that he had in his

nature--the rover, the aspirant, the poet, the priest--in the limits

of a single passion. He could not--he would not--renounce his wild

field of mission warfare for the parlours and the peace of Vale

Hall. I learnt so much from himself in an inroad I once, despite

his reserve, had the daring to make on his confidence.




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