t
of Bible truth and the enriching of heavenly influences; and so, in
pictures of the old masters and creations of the grand architects of
old and new time, she found truth and teaching and testimony utterly
missed by those who have not the right key. It is the same with nature
and with all the great arts; for Truth is one; and if you are quite
ignorant of her in her highest and grandest revelations, you cannot by
possibility understand the more subordinate and initiative. Some dim
sense of the hidden mystery, some vague appreciation of the outward
beauty of the language without getting at its expressed meaning, or but
very partially, just so far as you have the key; that is all there is
for you.

In all Dolly's horizon there was but one cloud. Lawrence was one of the
company, it is true, almost one of the family; treated with greatest
consideration and familiarity by both father and mother. But Dolly was
not a weak young woman. She knew her own mind, and she had given
Lawrence to know it; she was in no confusion about him, and her
conscience was clear. Lawrence was also enjoying Rome, after his own
fashion; if he was staying for her, Dolly did not know it, and it was
not her fault.

So her one only shadow upon the brightness at Rome came from her
father. Not that he went into any great excesses; or if he did, they
were hidden from Dolly; but he indulged himself, she knew, in one at
least of his mischievous pleasures. She had no reason to suppose that
he gambled; as I said, there was always money to discharge the weekly
bills; but he found wine somewhere and drank it; that was certain; and
when did ever evil habits stand still? If he kept within bounds now,
who should warrant her that he would continue to do so? Mr. Copley came
home sometimes cheerful and disposed to be merry; he had taken only
enough to exhilarate him; at other times he came home gloomy and cross,
and then Dolly knew he had drunk enough to confuse his head and
slightly disturb his conscience. What could she do? She clenched her
little hands sometimes when she was walking the streets, and sometimes
she wrung them in impotent grief. She strove to win her father to share
in her pleasures; with little success. She was lovely to him as a
daughter could be, always; and at the same time she let him see by her
grave face and subdued manner when he came home with the breath of wine
upon his lips, that she was troubled and grieved. What more could she
do? So