Harry was innocent, tender-hearted, and gay, and so far
the expression of her features told you truth; but it also told you more
than that, which you must needs believe, though it was not the fact. Her
face was not the index of her mind in all respects; it was rather like
the exquisite and costly dial-plate of a time-piece the works of which
are indifferent. Her air was spiritual; her voice thrilled your being
with its sweet tone; her eyes were full of earnest tenderness; but she
was weak of purpose, vacillating rather than impulsive, credulous, and
given (not from choice, but fear) to dissimulation. That last fault
Richard willingly forgave her, since it worked to his advantage; and to
the others he would have been more than human had he not been blind. For
Harry loved him. She had never said so; he had never asked her to say
so; but it was taken for granted on both sides. They were thrown much
together, for Dunloppel--a treasure-house, which proved richer and
richer the more it yielded--monopolized the attention of both Trevethick
and Solomon; they were in high good-humor, and not at all disposed for
quarrel or suspicion. Harry had always been the mistress of her own
movements, and she went, as usual, whither she liked, and Richard went
with her.
The spring was advancing, and brought its soft hues even to the barren
moors of Gethin, and bathed its gray rocks in sunshine.
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