n her thoughts. His impression had fallen on an
extraordinarily virginal mind that the thought of love-making had never
disturbed. Physically, she hadn't responded to him in the least; but
the long silences of Roscarna and particularly those of the following
winter, when Slieveannilaun loomed above the woods like an immense and
snowy ghost, and the lake was frozen until the cold spell broke and
snow-broth swirled desolately under the Palladian bridge, gave her time
for reflection in which her fancy began to dwell on the problems of
ideal love. In this dead season the letters of Radway were more than
ever an excitement. They stirred her imagination with pictures of
burning seas and lurid tropical sunsets, and with this pageantry the
memory of him would invade the dank gloom of the library where she and
Considine pursued the acquisition of knowledge.

It was inevitable that she should have found some outlet of the kind,
for in the curious circumstances of her upbringing she had missed that
sentimental stage which is the measles of puberty. She had never
trembled with adoration of a schoolmistress and Considine was an
unthinkable substitute. In Dublin she had learned for the first time
that she was beautiful, and that her country clothes did not show her
at her best. This, together with Radway's attentions, had revealed to
her the fact that she was a woman, and therefore made to love and be
loved.

She loved Roscarna passionately, but in this neither Roscarna nor its
inhabitants could help her. Under the most romantic circumstances in
the world she could find no romance. Her new-born instinct revealed
itself in a curious, almost maternal devotion to her father and the
current litter of puppies. Jocelyn found its expression unusual but
not unpleasant: the attentions of this charming daughter flattered him;
and the puppies liked it, too, licking her face when she smothered them
with motherly caresses. But these things were not enough for her, and
it came as a great relief when she discovered another outlet in the
contents of the library bookshelves.

She became a greedy student of romance. The Hewishes had never been
great readers, but in the early nineteenth century one of them had felt
it becoming to his position as a country gentleman to buy books. The
romantic education of Gabrielle was accomplished, as became an
Irishwoman, in the school of Maria Edgeworth. _Castle Rackrent_
ravished her. She thrilled