t
was something she had never touched before in her life, and did not now
know what it meant; at least I should say her _reason_ did not know;
yet nature answered to nature infallibly, and by some hidden intuition
of recognition the girl was subdued and dumb. This was nothing like Tom
Caruthers, and anything she had received from him. Tom had been
flattering, demonstrative, obsequious; there was no flattery here, and
no demonstration, and nothing could be farther from obsequiousness. It
was the delicate reverence which a man gives to only one woman of all
the world; something that must be felt and cannot be feigned; the most
subtle incense of worship one human spirit can render to another; which
the one renders and the other receives, without either being able to
tell how it is done. The more is the incense sweet, penetrating,
powerful. Lois went home silently, through the rain and wind, and did
not know why a certain mist of happiness seemed to encompass her. She
was ignorant why the storm was so very beneficent in its action; did
not know why the wind was so musical and the rain so refreshing; could
not guess why she was sorry to get home. Yet the fact was before her as
she stepped in.

"It has done you no harm!" said Mr. Dillwyn, smiling, as he met Lois's
eyes, and saw her fresh, flushed cheeks. "Are you wet?"

"I think not at all."

"This must come off, however," he went on, proceeding to unfasten her
cloak; "it has caught more rain-drops than you know." And Lois
submitted, and meekly stood still and allowed the cloak, very wet on
one side, to be taken off her.

"Where is this to go? there seems to be no place to hang it here."

"O, I will hang it up to dry in the kitchen, thank you," said Lois,
offering to take it.

"_I_ will hang it up to dry in the kitchen,--if you will show me the
way. You cannot handle it."

Lois could have laughed, for did she not handle everything? and did wet
or dry make any difference to her? However, she did not on this
occasion feel like contesting the matter; but with unwonted docility
preceded Mr. Dillwyn through the sitting-room, where were Mrs. Armadale
and Madge, to the kitchen beyond, where Charity was just putting on the
tea-kettle.

CHAPTER XXXV.

OPINIONS.

Mr. Dillwyn rejoined Mrs. Barclay in her parlour, but he was a less
entertaining man this evening than he had been during the former part
of his visit. Mrs. Barclay saw it, and smiled, and sighed. Eve