Her heart was the heart of a true woman. It accepted the
conviction which raised Norah higher in her love: it rejected the doubt
which threatened to place Magdalen lower. She rose and paced the room
impatiently; she recoiled with an angry suddenness from the whole train
of thought in which her mind had been engaged but the moment before.
What if there were dangerous elements in the strength of Magdalen's
character--was it not her duty to help the girl against herself? How had
she performed that duty? She had let herself be governed by first
fears and first impressions; she had never waited to consider whether
Magdalen's openly acknowledged action of that morning might not imply a
self-sacrificing fortitude, which promised, in after-life, the noblest
and the most enduring results. She had let Norah go and speak those
words of tender remonstrance, which she should first have spoken
herself. "Oh!" she thought, bitterly, "how long I have lived in the
world, and how little I have known of my own weakness and wickedness
until to-day!"
The door of the room opened. Norah came in, as she had gone out, alone.
"Do you remember leaving anything on the little table by the
garden-seat?" she asked, quietly.
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