Shirley

ago.«
    »You left us there and find us here. We have been watching you; and shall watch you still: you must be questioned one day, but not now: at present, all you have to do is to say good-night, and then pass.«
    Moore glanced from one to the other, without unbending his aspect. »Days of fête have their privileges, and so have days of hazard,« observed he, gravely.
    »Come – don't moralize: say good-night, and pass,« urged Shirley.
    »Must I say good-night to you, Miss Keeldar?«
    »Yes, and to Caroline likewise. It is nothing new, I hope: you have bid us both good-night before.«
    He took her hand, held it in one of his, and covered it with the other: he looked down at her gravely, kindly, yet commandingly. The heiress could not make this man her subject: in his gaze on her bright face there was no servility, hardly homage; but there was interest and affection, heightened by another feeling: something in his tone when he spoke, as well as in his words, marked that last sentiment to be gratitude.
    »Your debtor bids you good-night! – May you rest safely and serenely till morning!«
    »And you, Mr. Moore, – what are you going to do? What have you been saying to Mr. Helstone, with whom I saw you shake hands? Why did all those gentlemen gather round you? Put away reserve for once: be frank with me.«
    »Who can resist you? I will be frank: to-morrow, if there is anything to relate, you shall hear it.«
    »Just now,« pleaded Shirley: »don't procrastinate.«
    »But I could only tell half a tale; and my time is limited, – I have not a moment to spare: hereafter I will make amends for delay by candour.«
    »But are you going home?«
    »Yes.«
    »Not to leave it any more to-night?«
    »Certainly not. At present, farewell to both of you!«
    He would have taken Caroline's hand and joined it in the same clasp in which he held Shirley's, but somehow it was not ready for him; she had withdrawn a few steps apart: her answer to Moore's adieu was only a slight bend of the head, and a gentle, serious smile. He sought no more cordial token: again he said »Farewell!« and quitted them both.
    »There! – it is over!« said Shirley, when he was gone. »We have made him bid us good-night, and yet not lost ground in his esteem, I think, Cary.«
    »I hope not,« was the brief reply.
    »I consider you very timid and undemonstrative,« remarked Miss Keeldar. »Why did you not give Moore your hand when he offered you his? He is your cousin: you like him. Are you ashamed to let him perceive your affection?«
    »He perceives all of it that interests him: no need to make a display of feeling.«
    »You are laconic: you would be stoical if you could. Is love, in your eyes, a crime, Caroline?«
    »Love, a crime! No, Shirley: – love is a divine virtue; but why drag that word into the conversation? it is singularly irrelevant!«
    »Good!« pronounced Shirley.
    The two girls paced the green lane in silence. Caroline first resumed.
    »Obtrusiveness is a crime; forwardness is a crime; and both disgust: but love! – no purest angel need blush to love! And when I see or hear either man or woman couple shame with love, I know their minds are coarse, their associations debased. Many who think themselves refined ladies and gentlemen, and on whose lips the word ›vulgarity‹ is for ever hovering, cannot mention ›love‹ without betraying their own innate and imbecile degradation: it is a low feeling in their estimation, connected only with low ideas for them.«
    »You describe three-fourths of the world, Caroline.«
    »They are cold – they are cowardly – they are stupid on the subject, Shirley! They never loved – they never were loved!«
    »Thou art right, Lina! And in their dense ignorance they blaspheme living fire, seraph-brought from a divine altar.«
    »They confound it with sparks mounting from Tophet!«
    The sudden and joyous clash of bells here stopped the dialogue by summoning all to the church.
     

 
Chapter XVIII
Which the Genteel Reader Is Recommended to Skip, Low Persons Being Here Introduced
    The evening was still and warm; close and sultry it even promised to become. Round the descending sun the clouds glowed purple: summer tints, rather Indian than English, suffused the horizon, and cast rosy reflections on hill-side, house-front, tree-bole; on winding road, and undulating pasture-ground. The two girls came down from the fields slowly: by the time they reached the churchyard the bells were hushed; the