Philip, thinks him not half so business-like
as himself."

Alice was silent, bending over her work,
while I continued:

"The old gentleman has all kinds of wild
dreams. He thinks that with Philip's
talents, he ought to command wealth; and
all in a moment."

Alice was still silent: but I was walking
to and fro in the room, and looking out of
windows, as I spoke, at the withered leaves,
which were twirling about in little eddies
in the yard— so that even now I hardly
observed that she made no response.

"For my part," said I," I feel sure that
whatever he does is best: for what is there
he could not do, and do well? At school he
threw us all into the shade; and in my
father's counting-house everybody remarked
his industry and good sense. You have
heard your father speak of this. Do you
remember?"

She made some answer, but so faintly, that
I looked round.

She had dropped her work, and was
arranging the beads of a necklace on her younger
sister, who was sitting beside her on a stool,
with her head lying back in her lap. There
was a slight confusion in her manner, so
unusual with her, that it struck me in an
instant; and when she looked up, her face
was crimson.

What life was ever yet so long and so
perfect in its happiness, that it could outweigh
the misery which that moment cost me! I
said no more to Alice; nor she to me then.
I wanted time to think over the suspicion
which had now entered my mind, to steal its
peace and rest for many a day and many a
night. I loved Alice deeply; had loved her
all along. Witness the anguish of my heart
that day.

I had been so much with her,— had known
so little obstacle to my seeing or talking with
her,— had so seldom missed her for one day,
—that even the happiness I owed to her had
become part of the habit of my life, and
passed unquestioned. There had been no
break in all that long time of pure delight
by which I could measure or guess its absolute
perfectness. Had I ever gone away
from home, even for short periods, as Garnett
had, I could not have failed to have known
it. Would that I had! or that something
else had told me, or prompted me to speak to
him of it long before.

How could I doubt that she loved Garnett?
Her silence, her confusion, her flushed and
troubled countenance, when I spoke of him,
told me better than words, or any sign could
tell me. Never before had she shown this.
Perhaps his long absence had made her more
than ever mindful of him. It was possible
that my words, coming at the very moment
when she was thinking of him, had startled
her with a suspicion that I knew her secret,
and sought to wring it from her; though
Heaven knows how far this had been from
my thoughts. But why had I not suspected
this before? Who could help liking Garnett?
Who that had been with him so much as she
had been, seeing all that was great and
generous in him, his power, his talent, and
his happy temper, could fail to love him?
Had I not myself done all I could,— ay, even
to that very hour,— to make him still more
glorious in her eyes?— voluntarily abasing
myself before him— taking a pleasure, even
—so perfect was my friendship— in confessing
my inferiority in all those things which
could touch a heart so tender, and so good as
hers?

I felt it was in vain to regret, and yet how
often, and how deeply I did regret, that
Garnett had not from the first suspected my
feeling towards her. I knew too well his
nature, to doubt what course he would have
taken. He would have stifled all thought
of anything but brotherly affection; or,
if he could not trust himself, would have
shunned her, for my sake. I was sure
he would. Yes; even this he would have
done; for when did I ever know him willing
to purchase pleasure for himself, at
any cost of pain to me? But there are
sacrifices too great—sacrifices impossible
even for a friendship such as his. If, in all
his steady industry— never dreaming of my
affection for her— he had cherished a hope of
winning her one day, and had revealed this
to her by some word or action,— and if she,
as was too clear, loved him no less,— it must
be so. I thought I would satisfy myself of
this; and, having done so, would henceforth
be true towards him, as I had ever been.
This was plainly what I ought to do. It
should not be said that my friendship had
been mere idle words, a selfish bond to be
broken without scruple, even for such a
cause. This was my final resolution. But
O, the trial! O, the pain and sorrow of that
time!

I was glad that he was away; because it
gave me leisure to think on these things, and
to recover something like calmness. I even
saw Alice as before, carefully concealing my
trouble, not mentioning Garnett again, but
determining to wait for any other thing
which might confirm my suspicion. I saw
them meet when he came back, and there
was the same look of confusion in her face
when she caught my eyes upon her; a look
of trouble, so far beyond all doubt, that I
felt that some kind of hope, which I had
secretly held till then, was suddenly gone;
and with that went out, and left them
there.

Garnett had come back from his journey
pale and ill; and indeed there had been, for
a little while, a change in him which, slight
as it had been till now, was visible to me. I
had not spoken to him, taking it for some
care of business, which it was better to try