Charlemont; Or, the Pride of the Village. a Tale of Kentucky by William Gilmore Simms
page 83 of 518 (16%)
page 83 of 518 (16%)
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his devotion to her charms. There was yet another passion to be
gratified. The restless ambition of her foolish heart whispered to her momently, that if her person had done so much, what might she not hope to achieve when the treasures of her mind were known. She had long since made the comparison of her own intellect with that of every other maiden in the village, and she flattered herself that before many days, the young stranger should make it too. Her vain heart was rapidly preparing to smooth the path of the enemy and make his conquests easy. But it was not the women only, by whom the deportment of Alfred Stevens was so closely watched. The eyes of suspicion and jealousy were upon him. The two young men whose interview formed the conclusion of our last chapter, scanned his conduct and carriage with sufficient keenness of scrutiny. "I'll tell you what, Bill Hinkley," said his cousin, "this fellow, to my thinking, is a very great rascal." "What makes you think so?" demanded the former, with slow, dissatisfied accents; "he seems to pray very earnestly." "That's the very reason I think him a rascal. His praying seems to me very unnatural. Here, he's a perfect stranger in the place, yet he never shows any curiosity to see the people. He never once looks around him. He walks to the church with his eye cast upon the ground, and sometimes he squints to this side and sometimes to that, but he seems to do it slyly, and seems to take pains that nobody should see him doing, it. All this might answer for an old man, who--believes that everything is vanity--as, indeed, everything |
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