CHAPTER XXIX. LOUIS MOORE.

ventthemfromsmotheringher,andtobesureandgiveherastrongnarcotic.Iseeherconfessingthatshewasnotsoself-sufficing,soindependentofsympathy,aspeoplethought.Iseethesecretteardropquietlyfromhereyelash.ShesaidIthoughtherchildish,andIdid.SheimaginedIdespisedher.Despisedher!Itwasunutterablysweettofeelmyselfatoncenearherandaboveher—tobeconsciousofanaturalrightandpowertosustainher,asahusbandshouldsustainhiswife. "Iworshipherperfectionsbutitisherfaults,oratleastherfoibles,thatbringherneartome,thatnestlehertomyheart,thatfoldheraboutwithmylove,andthatforamostselfishbutdeeply-naturalreason.ThesefaultsarethestepsbywhichImounttoascendencyoverher.Ifsheroseatrimmed,artificialmound,withoutinequality,whatvantagewouldsheofferthefoot?Itisthenaturalhill,withitsmossybreaksandhollows,whoseslopeinvitesascent,whosesummititispleasuretogain. "Toleavemetaphor.Itdelightsmyeyetolookonher.Shesuitsme.IfIwereakingandshethehousemaidthatsweptmypalace-stairs,acrossallthatspacebetweenusmyeyewouldrecognizeherqualitiesatruepulsewouldbeatforherinmyheart,thoughanunspannedgulfmadeacquaintanceimpossible.IfIwereagentleman,andshewaitedonmeasaservant,IcouldnothelplikingthatShirley.Takefromherhereducationtakeherornaments,hersumptuousdress,allextrinsicadvantagestakeallgrace,butsuchasthesymmetryofherformrendersinevitablepresenthertomeatacottagedoor,inastuffgownletheroffermethereadraughtofwater,withthatsmile,withthatwarmgood-willwithwhichshenowdispensesmanorialhospitality—Ishouldlikeher.IshouldwishtostayanhourIshouldlingertotalkwiththatrustic.IshouldnotfeelasInowdoIshouldfindinhernothingdivinebutwheneverImettheyoungpeasant,itwouldbewithpleasurewheneverIlefther,itwouldbewithregret. "Howculpablycarelessinhertoleaveherdeskopen,whereIknowshehasmoney!Inthelockhangthekeysofallherrepositories,ofherveryjewel-casket.ThereisapurseinthatlittlesatinbagIseethetasselofsilverbeadshangingout.ThatspectaclewouldprovokemybrotherRobert.Allherlittlefailingswould,Iknow,beasourceofirritationtohim.Iftheyvexmeitisamostpleasurablevexation.IdelighttofindheratfaultandwereIalwaysresidentwithher,Iamawareshewouldbenoniggardinthusministeringtomyenjoyment.Shewouldjustgivemesomethingtodo,torectify—athemeformytutorlectures.IneverlectureHenry,neverfeeldisposedtodoso.Ifhedoeswrong—andthatisveryseldom,dear,excellentlad!—awordsuffices.OftenIdonomorethanshakemyhead.Butthemomentherminoismutinmeetsmyeye,expostulatorywordscrowdtomylips.FromataciturnmanIbelieveshewouldtransformmeintoatalker.WhencecomesthedelightItakeinthattalk?Itpuzzlesmyselfsometimes.Themorecrane,malin,taquinishermood,consequentlythecleareroccasionshegivesmefordisapprobation,themoreIseekher,thebetterIlikeher.Sheisneverwilderthanwhenequippedinherhabitandhat,neverlessmanageablethanwhensheandZo?comeinfieryfromaracewiththewindonthehillsandIconfessit—tothismutepageImayconfessit—Ihavewaitedanhourinthecourtforthechanceofwitnessingherreturn,andforthedearerchanceofreceivingherinmyarmsfromthesaddle.Ihav