against his shoulder, to be
touched by his fingers,--never disposed to wait for his coming, or
to regret his going. But she had hardly become acquainted with her
cousin before his presence was a pleasure to her; and no sooner had
he spoken to her of his love, than everything that concerned him was
dear to her. The atmosphere that surrounded him was sweeter to her
than the air elsewhere. All those little aids which a man gives to a
woman were delightful to her when they came to her from his hands.
She told herself that she had found the second half that was needed
to make herself one whole; that she had become round and entire in
joining herself to him; and she thought that she understood well why
it had been that Mr. Gilmore had been nothing to her. As Mr. Fenwick
was manifestly the husband appointed for his wife, so had Walter
Marrable been appointed for her. And so there had come upon her a
dreamy conviction that marriages are made in heaven. That question,
whether they were to be poor or rich, to have enough or much less
than enough for the comforts of life, was, no doubt, one of much
importance; but, in the few happy days of her assured engagement, it
was not allowed by her to interfere for a moment with the fact that
she and Walter were intended, each to be the companion of the other,
as long as they two might live.

Then by degrees,--by degrees, though the process had been quick,--had
fallen upon her that other conviction, that it was her duty to him
to save him from the burdens of that life to which she herself had
looked forward so fondly. At first she had said that he should judge
of the necessity; swearing to herself that his judgment, let it be
what it might, should be right to her. Then she had perceived that
this was not sufficient;--that in this way there would be no escape
for him;--that she herself must make the decision, and proclaim
it. Very tenderly and very cautiously had she gone about her task;
feeling her way to the fact that this separation, if it came from
her, would be deemed expedient by him. That she would be right in all
this, was her great resolve; that she might after all be wrong, her
constant fear. She, too, had heard of public censors, of the girl of
the period, and of the forward indelicacy with which women of the
age were charged. She knew not why, but it seemed to her that the
laws of the world around her demanded more of such rectitude from
a woman than from a man, and, if it might