pailful; and she had a thick shawl but no umbrella. He had brought a
large one on the chance; he would see her home.

"Quite unnecessary; it is so near."

He insisted; she persisted; and, persisting, yielded. They said but
little; yet they seemed to interchange volumes; and, at each gaslight
they passed, they stole a look and treasured it to feed on.

That night was one broad step more towards the great happiness, or great
misery, which awaits a noble love. Such loves, somewhat rare in Nature,
have lately become so very rare in Fiction that I have ventured, with
many misgivings, to detail the peculiarities of its rise and progress.
But now for a time it advanced on beaten tracks. Alfred had the right to
call at Albion Villa, and he came twice; once when Mrs. Dodd was out.
This was the time he stayed the two hours. A Mrs. James invited Jane and
him to tea and exposition. There he met Julia and Edward, who had just
returned. Edward was taken with Jane Hardie's face and dovelike eyes;
eyes that dwelt with a soft and chastened admiration on his masculine
face and his model form, and their owner felt she had received "a call"
to watch over his spiritual weal. So they paired off.

Julia's fluctuating spirits settled now into a calm, demure, complacency.
Her mother, finding this strange remedial virtue in youthful society,
gave young parties, inviting Jane and Alfred in their turn. Jane
hesitated, but, as she could no longer keep Julia from knowing her
worldly brother, and hoped a way might be opened for her to rescue
Edward, she relaxed her general rule, which was to go into no company
unless some religious service formed part of the entertainment. Yet her
conscience was ill at ease; and, to set them an example, she took care,