He does seem to care for me--there is often something in his
face and tone that whispers hope. If he loves her as I love him
he could not be here in New York all this week. But it's her love
that troubles me--I've seen it in her eyes when he was not observing,
and I fear she just worships him. Alas, he gave her reason. His
manner has been that of a lover, and no one--he least of all--would
think of flirting with Jennie Burton. But does he lover her so
deeply that I could not win him if I had a chance? Would it be very
wicked if I did? Must I give up my happiness for her happiness?
I came to New York to get away from danger and temptation and here
I am right in the midst of it. What shall I do! Oh, my Saviour,
I'm half afraid to speak to thee about this."
"If I could only see Mr. Eltinge," she murmured, after an
hour of distracted thought and indecision. "There is no time to
write--indeed, I could not write on such a subject, and--and--I'm
afraid he'd advise me against it. He can't understand a woman's
feelings in a case like this, at least he could not understand a
passionate, faulty girl like me. I've no patience--no fortitude.
I could die for my love--I think, I hope, I could for my faith,--but
I feel no power within me to endure patiently year after year.
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