danger of any sort: he would be silent for a time, and then again show
himself tormented with forebodings about me. In the morning, however, he
was better; only he looked sadder than usual. She thought he was, for
some cause or other, in reality anxious about me. So much I gathered from
Martha's letter, by no means scholarly, but graphic enough.

It gave me much pain. My uncle was miserable about me: he had plainly
seen, he knew and felt that something had come between us! Alas, it was
no fancy of his brain-troubled soul! Whether I was in fault or not, there
was that something! It troubled the unity that had hitherto seemed a
thing essential and indivisible!

Dared I go to him without a summons? I knew Martha would call me the
moment the doctor allowed her: it would not be right to go without that
call. What I had to tell might justify far more anxiety than the sight of
me would counteract. If I said nothing, the keen eye of his love would
assure itself of the something hid in my silence, and he would not see
that I was but waiting his improvement to tell him everything. I resolved
therefore to remain where I was.

The next two days were perhaps the most uncomfortable ever I spent. A
secret one desires to turn out of doors at the first opportunity, is not
a pleasant companion. I do not say I was unhappy, still less that once I
wished I had not seen John Day, but oh, how I longed to love him openly!
how I longed for my uncle's sanction, without which our love could not be
perfected! Then John's mother was by no means a gladsome thought--except
that he must be a good man indeed, who was good in spite of being unable
to love, respect, or trust his mother! The true notion of heaven, is to
be with everybody one loves: to him the presence of his mother--such as
she was, that is--would destroy any heaven! What a painful but salutary