without stepping out upon the balcony to take counsel of the starlit sky. Could the stone balustrade on which she leaned have told all the girl's thoughts, as they floated over it into the still misty air of daybreak, or the unfathomable spaces of the night, what a strange tissue of faith and fear, of hopes and questionings and doubts, it would have been!
The girl's character was not as yet fully developed. She was still full of inconsistencies—perhaps always would be; but experience might do something to reconcile points in her nature which did not seem to fit into each other. Proud, independent, undemonstrative in manner, she yet responded very quickly to affection. She had grown really fond of her uncle, for whom she felt a certain pity—she hardly knew why. For was he not perfectly happy? Did he ever appear to wish his wife different from what she was? And if she could entirely have believed in her aunt, she would have become attached to her also, little as their natures had in common. The girl's was a curious blending of the romantic with the practical and hardworking. Clever as she was, she was not suspicious—not shrewd; at this time hardly very observant. Certainly few clever girls in her position would not have had their eyes open, after a few months, to Mrs. William Shaw's real character. She was untruthful, and she was always restless for amusement and admiration—so much Elizabeth saw; but her aunt's apparent kindness and invariable good temper hoodwinked the girl, who was still very ignorant of human nature. By none of the indications which would have betrayed the secret to so many could she have discerned
