Yes--he is content. More than once, as I caught his eye following me about the room, we exchanged a smile--friendly, even affectionate.--Ay, he does like me. If I were a little younger--if I were a little girl in curls, I should say he is “fond” of me.--“Fond of”--what an idle phrase!--such as one would use towards a dog, or cat, or bird. What a difference between that and the holy words, “I love”--not as silly young folks say, I am “in love”--but “_I love_;” with all my reason, will, and strength; with all the tenderness of my heart, all the reverence of my soul.
Be quiet, heart--be silent, soul! I have, as I said before--nought to do with these things.
The evening passed pleasantly and calmly enough, all parties seeming to enjoy themselves: even poor Colin coming out his brilliantest and best; and making himself quite at home with us. Though he got into a little disgrace before going away, by saying something which irritated papa; and which made me glad that the little conversation this morning between Doctor Urquhart and myself had been not in family conclave, but private.
Colin was speaking of the sermon, and how “shocked” his mother had been at its pleading against capital punishment.
“Against capital punishment, did you say?”--cried papa. “Did my curate bring this disgraceful subject into my pulpit in order to speak against the law of the land--the law of God?--Girls, why did you not tell me. Dora, remind me I must see the young man to-morrow.”
I was mortally afraid this would end in the poor young man's summary dismissal; for papa never allows any “new-fangled notions” in his curates; they must think and preach as he does--or quit. I pleaded a little for this one, who has a brother and sister dependent on him, lodging in the village; and, as far as I dared and could, I pleaded for his sermon. Colin tried to aid me, honest fellow, backing my words, every one, with the most eager asseverations--well-meant, though they did not exactly help the argument.
“Dora,” cried papa, in utmost astonishment, “what do you mean?”
“Miss Dora's quite right: she always is,”--said Colin, stoutly. “I don't think anybody ever ought to be hanged; least of all a poor fellow who, like--” he mentioned the name, but I forget it--it was the case that has been so much in the newspapers--“killed another fellow out of jealousy--or in a passion--or being drunk--which was it? I say, Urquhart--Treherne--won't you bear me out?”