E. W.'
On recovering from her surprise, Barbara's remorse was such that she
felt herself absolutely unforgiveable. She should have regarded him
as an afflicted being, and not have been this slave to mere
eyesight, like a child. To follow him and entreat him to return was
her first thought. But on making inquiries she found that nobody
had seen him: he had silently disappeared.
More than this, to undo the scene of last night was impossible. Her
terror had been too plain, and he was a man unlikely to be coaxed
back by her efforts to do her duty. She went and confessed to her
parents all that had occurred; which, indeed, soon became known to
more persons than those of her own family.
The year passed, and he did not return; and it was doubted if he
were alive. Barbara's contrition for her unconquerable repugnance
was now such that she longed to build a church-aisle, or erect a
monument, and devote herself to deeds of charity for the remainder
of her days. To that end she made inquiry of the excellent parson
under whom she sat on Sundays, at a vertical distance of twenty
feet. But he could only adjust his wig and tap his snuff-box; for
such was the lukewarm state of religion in those days, that not an
aisle, steeple, porch, east window, Ten-Commandment board, lion-and-
unicorn, or brass candlestick, was required anywhere at all in the
neighbourhood as a votive offering from a distracted soul--the last
century contrasting greatly in this respect with the happy times in
which we live, when urgent appeals for contributions to such objects
pour in by every morning's post, and nearly all churches have been
made to look like new pennies.
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